


Trying New Things

by lindenwaverly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (not Draco's), 90's appropriate music choices, College, Enemies to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Internalised Homophobia, Internalised Misogyny, M/M, Mutual Pining, Seamus is kind of a dick for a lot of this story but he's learning and growing, Slow Burn, Slow burn to feelings, Teacher!Harry, Theo Nott hates everyone, University, Well - Freeform, accidental feelings as a result from fucking around is my favourite trope, constant drinking, erotic use of surnames, i don't know how we all as a fandom decided Blaise Zabini was Like This but he is a gift, idiots to lovers, it's a relatively quick burn to fucking, misuse of Muggle flowers, the author doesn't just jump the shark but leaps right over it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 76,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindenwaverly/pseuds/lindenwaverly
Summary: University, as Hermione keeps insisting, is a time for trying new things. For Harry's friends, that seems to involve a bewildering array of experiences: collecting a Ravenclaw harem, drinking in Muggle pubs, developing new and terrifying feelings for your best friend, Muggle philosophy, something called a "slippery nipple" and Blaise Zabini whispering terrifying things about "expanding sexual horizons."For Harry himself, it mostly involves dealing with f*cking Malfoy.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Parvati Patil, Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Susan Bones/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 62
Kudos: 160





	1. The Boys are Back in Town

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to include a bit more of a trigger warning than I do in the tags here - nothing very spoiler-y, but skip ahead now if you don't want to read. 
> 
> This fic is written as a fairly accurate description of my own time at university. This means drug and alcohol use, lots of smoking ect - but it also includes discussion of racism, a character dealing with significant internalised homophobia, use of homophobic slurs (once, I think), discussion of homophobia, an attempted sexual assault and discussion of other forms of sexual assault. Overall, I think this fic is tonally fairly light - while these are serious weighty subjects, they're not the focus of this fic.   
> Also, fuck JKR lolololololololol.

“Gryffin-DORRRRR!”

The shout echoed off the walls of the Muggle train as Seamus and Dean descended on the table that Harry and Hermione had grabbed. Across the aisle from them, an elderly woman in a bobble hat turned and gave them a distinctly dirty look, taking in the whole lot of them – the bags shoved under the tables, the mess of sweet wrappers in front of them, Harry’s dishevelled hair next to Hermione’s new close-crop. Hermione shhh’d the boys as they bundled into the seats opposite, trying to clear the table.

“Boys! Muggles!”

Harry laughed. “Come on, Hermione. They’ll just think it’s a sports team or something.”

“Close enough to the truth,” said Dean. “Uni’s going to be amazing. Harry, have you seen that you’re in the same flat as me and Seamus? It’s going to be just like the boys room all over again.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, trying and failing not to think about how it would be different. He felt a small ache for the comforting presence of Ron. The thing about Dean and Seamus was that they were a set, and it wasn’t one that you could break into. It had been ok when it was him and Ron, but now – well. He mentally apologised to Neville, always the one without a best friend.

Not that things had been stellar in eighth year, even with Ron there. Harry had felt like he was limping through school, trying to work out what he wanted to do with his life, standing on the edges of Ron and Hermione’s drama.

“Pity Ron’s in auror training – ow!” Dean had elbowed Seamus in the side, and was looking at Hermione in a way that was meant to be stealthy. Seamus, never one for subtlety, elbowed him back. “What was that for?”

Hermione sighed. “What Dean is trying to say, Seamus, is that Ron and I broke up and I might not want to hear about him. But it’s _fine.”_ She fixed Dean with a look that was dangerously close to a glare. “We parted on good terms.”

“Really?” said Dean. “Because we could hear the arguments from our floor.”

“Don’t,” said Harry. “I’m having flashbacks. I lived through an actual war, and _eighth year_ was more traumatic than all of that put together.”

“You’re over-exaggerating,” said Hermione.

“Am I?”

“So what are you studying, Dean?” she said cheerfully, flicking Harry on the shoulder as she did so.

“Fine Art,” said Dean. “I can’t believe Hog – uh, school never taught us much about it. I mean, I always knew how to draw in the _ordinary way,_ but I never knew how to make my paintings more cinematic, if you catch my drift.”

“Not at all,” said Seamus. “And I’m doing, uh, - Architecture?” He sent a quick look round at the other passengers.

“Closer to Engineering,” said Dean, “but close enough.” He dropped his voice. “Metollagy. Hermione, I assume you’re doing ‘law’. Harry?”

“Teaching,” he said, smiling. “It’s a new one. It turns out that Muggles actually make you get a degree in how to get children to learn stuff, rather than finding someone who knows a lot about a school subject and just hoping that they can get teenagers to learn. So you don’t end up with someone truly horrible who’s just mean to the kids that don’t understand.”

He’d almost decided not to go to university. He’d almost decided not to do anything, or rather decided not to make a decision. Ron had been going into auror training, and Harry had gone to one taster day and then gone back to Hogwarts shaking and thrown up a bit in the loo. Hermione had been ploughing through prospectus after prospectus in a way that seemed designed to stop her thinking about her new single life. Harry had spent most of his time lying on his back in front of the lake, basking in the May sunshine and hoping that McGonagall wouldn’t find him.

McGonagall hadn’t. Hermione had, storming up to him while he was considering trying to teach the Giant Squid to play catch and dropping a bunch of prospectus’s in front of him.

“What made you happy, Harry?” she’d said.

He’d shrugged, hoping that would put her off, but instead she’d taken that as an opportunity to go through every single course she could find and quiz him on whether he’d ever found that subject interesting.

“Communications, maybe? You were quite good at dealing with the press for a while – “

“Because I had to, Hermione, and I hated it.”

“Dark Artefacts research?”

He’d almost thrown a strop. Almost, and then restrained himself, because Hermione had cut off almost all her hair about a week ago and he still wasn’t sure if it was a cry for help. Still, it was difficult to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he said “Just because I did it, ‘Mione, doesn’t mean I wanted to. Half this stuff I didn’t choose to do, and the other half I was rubbish at.”

She’d slammed the book shut. “Harry James Potter. You’re acting like a great big lump. Yes, you had to do a lot of awful things, but it wasn’t all you being pushed around. You’re a big boy – what did you choose to do?”

“Nothing!” he yelled, and then he’d remembered. The joy of pulling a patronus out of someone who’d sworn up and down they couldn’t do it, the thrill of refereeing a duel. “Well. Dumbledore’s Army. That was all me. But I don’t think we really need any adolescent militias anymore, do we?”

Hermione had hmm’d and left him to it, and then a day later there was a prospectus on his bed open on a page about a new, experimental degree in Teaching Magic, and there was a recommended reading list, and a week later Harry had a future.

“A degree in not being Snape,” said Seamus, and Harry forced his mind back to the sunny train compartment. “Will wonders never cease. Hey, you don’t happen to know who else is in our flat, do you?”

Harry shrugged. “No idea. Dean?”

“Nope.”

“Boys,” sighed Hermione.

“Oi,” said Seamus. “We’re men now.”

“No we’re not,” said Dean. “And you’re definitely not, five-foot-five.”

“See if I don’t hex you right now, you – “

“Oi,” said Harry. When the two of them started, they could go on for a while. “Hermione, bastion of knowledge and best friend in the world, you wouldn’t happen to know who’s in our flat, do you?”

“Why would she?” said Seamus, at the same time as Hermione said “Yes.” She grinned at his shocked expression. “I’ve been knowing things that Harry needs to know for him for years. You’re with Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Morag Macdougal and Blaise Zabini.”

Seamus pulled a face. “The Slytherin? Gross.”

Hermione sighed. “For god’s sake, Seamus. It was _school._ Let it go.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “but Slytherin were a bit evil.”

“Draco Malfoy was evil,” said Hermione. “Blaise was just vaguely smarmy sometimes.”

“Morag Macdougal,” said Dean, shuddering. “She’s terrifying. I duelled her once in the DA. Almost lost my eyebrows.”

“What about your flat, Hermione?” said Harry.

“I’m just bekow you,” she said, opening her book again. Which was – odd. Because that was not an answer.

“Right. But who’s in it?”

“Does it matter?”

“ _Yes.”_

“We’re in the same block,” said Dean. “We need to have block parties, like, every night. We have to know the guest list.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think we should treat our first year of academic studies as an excuse to drink constantly – “

“Hermione,” said Harry. “Who’s in your flat?”

“Don’t get weird, ok, Harry?”

“Who’s in the flat, Hermione.”

She thinned her lips. “Parvati, Hannah Abbot, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, Theo Nott, and – you promise you won’t get weird, Harry?”

“Ahhh, fuck,” whispered Seamus.

“What?” said Harry. “What?”

“It’s Malfoy, isn’t it?” said Dean, looking at Hermione as if he were prophesising the end of the world. Hermione gave a small nod, and looked at Harry to check if he was ok. Which he was very much _not._

“That – that – that fucking – “

“You said you wouldn’t get weird.”

 _I bloody didn’t,_ he was tempted to say. “What do you mean, weird? I hate him! That’s not weird. He’s hateable! How is he even at uni? He didn’t return for eighth year.”

“He did his NEWTS under house arrest,” said Hermione in the clipped tones she used for shutting down conversations. “And I hear he’s studying Law too.”

“Christ, Hermione, poor you. Living with him and studying with him?”

She shrugged. “I’m being philosophical about it. Which means that I don’t want to hear about it, and neither do Seamus and Dean.”

“Hear about what? I’m not going to see him. What do you mean, hear about it?”

“I kind of want to hear about it,” said Seamus. “Harry’s Malfoy rants were always really funny. He used to do a dead good impression of him.”

“Don’t encourage him,” said Dean.

“Don’t encourage me - ? Hermione!”

She didn’t take her eyes off her book. “I’m not on your side here.”

“Let’s talk about quidditch!” said Dean, overly cheerful. “Or, uh, football. Fuck!”

“You’re so good at this, mate,” said Seamus. “Look, Harry. There’s so much good stuff about to happen. Let’s not focus on the bad shit, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Harry glumly, and tried to focus in on the conversation about Puddlemere’s chances against the Harpies (poor to dreadful) and not his own chances of enjoying university with Draco Malfoy on the floor beneath him (similar).

“Mate,” said Ron, through the floo in Harry’s new room, “mate, Harry, mate. I’m having a crisis. I’m having a terrible crisis.”

“Oh god,” said Harry, looking around at his unpacked things. “Is this about Hermione? Because, you know, break ups are hard and all that – “

“I got my new auror partner today.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It’s _Pansy Parkinson.”_

“Parkinson’s an auror?”

“Parkinson’s my partner,” said Ron, and even with his face made out of coals and flickers it was impossible to miss the abject expression of misery.

“Ooooooff,” said Harry. “Ron, mate, didn’t you try and tell them that – “

“That she tried to sell us all out?” Ron shrugged. “Everybody already knows. I think that’s why they put me with her – some of the other trainees were giving her shit, and I told everyone to leave her alone, and now they think we’re friends.”

“Well,” said Harry, trying to think of what Hermione would say. “You’ll both be so busy – “

“We’re on a stake-out tonight, Harry. A four-hour stakeout.”

Harry sighed. “Look, maybe you should make sure you’re near another pair. You never know what she’s going to throw at you. If you’re concerned for your safety, don’t be a hero, tell your superior – “

“Woah, woah, Harry.” Ron held up his hands placatingly. “I don’t think she’s, like, evil-in-the-proper-way. I just meant – it’s gonna be a bit awkward, isn’t it? And she’s always so mean. I’m not exactly the best at… well.”

“Diplomacy,” said Harry.

Ron scrubbed the back of his neck. “I was going to say tact but… all that bollocks, basically.”

“I mean, she’s not the best at it either, is she?”

“She did call me a mouth-breathing cretin the other day,” said Ron, laughing a little. “Felt kind of nice. Reminded me of… well, Hermione back in fourth year.”

“That was definitely your worst year,” said Harry, nodding vigorously. “After eighth year. And maybe seventh year.”

Ron grimaced. “Let us not speak of The Year That Never Was. Is she…” He trailed off, looking miserable.

“She’s fine,” said Harry. “She’s – you know, she’s Hermione. She’s thrown herself into her books.”

“It’s where she belongs,” said Ron, but he didn’t look any less sad. “I just – I mean, the three of us – “

“Will always be us,” said Harry. “I promise.” And he meant it, even as a small part of him sat up and worried. Hermione was great, but she was probably going to end up with a whole bunch of Ravenclaw types who Harry wouldn’t be able to keep up with, and without Ron there to be stabilise them, would there be space for Harry?

“I gotta go,” said Ron, breaking Harry’s miserable reverie. “I’ve got an essay to write for Friday. A bloody essay, Harry, in auror training. Bet George wouldn’t have made me write essays if I went to the shop.”

“Good luck, mate,” said Harry, and pulled his head out of the fire. He sat down heavily against the stone of the fireplace and looked around his room. He should really get to unpacking. He really should. He would, any minute now. It was just –

The room was lovely. The Royal College of Magic gave each student their own room, with a double bed, a writing desk and a cage for an owl which still gave Harry a pang when he looked at it. There was a small fireplace for floo calling, something which apparently most Muggle university dorms didn’t provide. There were large, south-facing windows which apparently would let in all the best light, and a creamy blue wallpaper which made him feel grown-up and not very Gryffindor at all.

Not very Gryffindor at all.

It was his own room, for the first time in his life. His own room, where he could retreat to and be himself when he needed to, with no Dursleys bursting in and none of Neville’s magical plants spilling over the windowsill and trying to eat him and no faint smell of burnt Seamus and none of Dean’s drawing spread up on the wall and no Ron –

Well. There was no point being maudlin. This was a brave new world, and he was going to find his new place in it. Beginning with unpacking everything, which took an extraordinarily long time because Hermione had made his trunk Expandable, and his didn’t quite have her knack for finding everything in it. It was dark by the time he was roused from his packing by a knocking at the door, and when he checked the time he found it was just past seven. It was probably Hermione, here to make sure that his room was organised in the most efficient way. 

When Harry opened the door to the knocking, he found it was not Hermione, or Dean or Seamus, or anyone explicable. It was Blaise Zabini, with a crate of champagne tucked under one arm. Dean and Seamus were hovering behind him, gripping each other’s shoulders in a way that was both adorable and disheartening.

“Blaise here is asking us out for a drink,” said Seamus, in a slightly strangled tone of voice.

“I – “ said Harry, but Blaise held up his hand imperiously.

“Harry, dear, I do understand that you think I am an evil Slytherin Death-Eater sympathiser, and I do see how our interactions at school could have given you that idea – I am, after all, a Slytherin, and I’m probably not _good._ But I would like to point out that I was not on Voldemort’s side, my mother was not on Voldemort’s side and I actually left the country in seventh year because I was so very much not on Voldemort’s side. Now we’ve done the obligatory “which side where you on” dance, would you care to come and get pissed?”

“How come we didn’t get that speech?” said Dean.

“Harry here is clearly your leader, and why repeat yourself three times when you could say it once and get the same response.”

Seamus scoffed and hummed a few bars of _He Saved Us All_ under his breath.

“I – I don’t know,” Harry said. Something shifted in Blaise’s face – some light going out in his eyes. He stepped closer, right into Harry’s face, which was quite a lot to deal with what with Blaise’s eyes and the cheekbones and the overpowering, expensive smell.

“ _Please,”_ Blaise hissed under his breath. There was something sharp there, hot and lonely, and Harry – well, Hermione always said he had a saviour complex.

“Oh, all right then,” said Harry, trying to put on some good cheer. “I was only going to unpack anyway. We can save that for tomorrow.”

“Good man!” Blaise thumped him on the back, all trace of whatever-that-had-been gone. Harry felt uncannily like he’d been conned.

They settled into the kitchen, Blaise uncorking the champagne and pouring them glasses and keeping up a steady stream of patter that almost disguised the awkward silence coming from all three of them. Eventually there was an awkward pause, and Harry realised, seeing as everyone was staring at him, that Blaise had probably just asked him a question.

“Sorry, what?”

Blaise sighed. “I was asking you if you had any plans to join a society, but fuck it. Just ask me what you want to.”

“So –please don’t take it the wrong way, I’m just asking because – well – I just – “

“Harry,” said Blaise, evenly, “are you asking why I wasn’t on the other side of the war?”

“Well – yes. But also why you weren’t on our side, if you weren’t on theirs.”

“So black and white,” sniffed Blaise. “Well, the reason I wasn’t on your side was because I’d been in classes with you for nearly six years, and I was fairly sure that any army lead by you was headed for total death and destruction, and I didn’t really feel like that. And I wasn’t on the Death Eater side because my father was a muggle.”

“But – your mother – “

Blaise waved a hand. “Oh, I’m pretty sure she put down the last wizard she was married to on the birth certificate. But she told me the truth, and even the most cursory glance over by the Ministry would have revealed it. My official father died ten months before I was born, and even if you wanted to argue I was overdue, he was one-hundred-and-fifty-three at the time. No, my father was an Irish muggle called Phil who was in a band, and who was apparently the great love of my mother’s life for about two months.”

“What happened?”

“She realised that she much preferred living in the style she was accustomed to and left him for another wealthy geriatric. Anyway, he’s dead now.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dean.

Blaise shrugged. “Mother was enough for me.”

“Still,” said Dean, quietly insistent. “I’m sorry. I found the same thing when I went looking for my dad. It hurt.”

Blaise looked at him. “Yes, it does.” There was a moment of silence and then Seamus, god bless him, piped up.

“Sorry, did you say your dad was an Irish muggle called Phil who was in a band?”

“Yes, Seamus,” said Blaise, patiently.

“And he was – “ Seamus waved a hand up and down Blaise – “black?”

“Yes,” said Blaise, slightly less patiently.

“Sorry, sorry, just give me a second.” Seamus ran to his room, and was back a second later holding a CD. “Is this your dad?”

Blaise peered at the CD case wearily, and then pulled back, shocked. “Yes. Yes it is. How did you – “

“Your dad was in _Thin Fucking Lizzy?”_ Seamus looked like he was having a breakdown. “Blaise Thin-Lizzy Zabini, you are a fucking legend. The boys are back in toooown!”

“They certainly are,” said Dean. Seamus was jumping around the room delightedly, and Blaise was laughing.

“Nah, you cretins, it’s the name of a song – ok, who’s got a CD player? We’re getting wild tonight, lads. We’re drinking with rock royalty. Oh my god, Zabini – Dean, move over, I’ve got a new best friend.”

“ _Accio_ CD Player,” said Dean, and after thirty seconds the room was filled with the sounds of punchy guitars, and Seamus tipped back his head and howled. Dean was laughing and Blaise – who Harry had been worried about – was laughing too. There were a few tears in his eyes that he wiped away discreetly, but his happiness looked genuine, and Harry let himself relax into the champagne, and the music, and Seamus’s aggressive dancing. Blaise taught them all Kings, a game where the primary rule seemed to be “get absolutely fucked up,” and Seamus and Dean nearly knocked themselves out diving to be “thumb master,” which happened every time someone drew a five.

The night was raucous and Seamus’s CD collection large, which was why no one herd the door opening. Harry only realised when Blaise went rigid, and he turned and felt a bit like he’d been runover by the Hogwarts Express.

Draco Malfoy was standing there in the doorway to the kitchen.

Harry felt a bit like laughing, and a bit like crying. It was too soon. He hadn’t seen Malfoy for a year, and it was still too fucking soon. He’d known, intellectually, that they’d run into each other. But he’d manged to repress it, assume that they’d probably just see each other on opposite sides of the hallway. He was not meant to be here, in Harry’s flat. Not here, when Harry was happy and Malfoy was so clearly miserable. He had done the war, he had done death, which meant that he was very much done with Draco Malfoy. If he had the _audacity_ to turn up to university, he should at very least have had the decency to live on the side lines.

“Get out,” he said, snarling.

Malfoy’s hands were shaking, just a little bit. “I was just looking for Blaise.”

“Draco,” said Blaise, his smile apparently unmoveable. “I don’t suppose you’d join us for a drink?”

Draco was still shaking, still looking at Harry directly. The tremors had spread to his whole body now. “You suppose right,” he said. “I – I’ll go.” And he ran – literally ran – out of the room.

“Well,” said Harry, “that was – “

“Unpleasant, yes,” said Blaise. His smile was beginning to look like it hurt. “Seamus, it’s your turn, isn’t it?”

“Four,” said Seamus, and everybody dove to the floor.

Susan, Morag and Terry were eventually pulled out of their rooms by the music and the promise of alcohol. Morag was no less scary and cool than she’d been in the DA, with a thick Scottish accent and a shaved head. She also had a hole in her ear, about the width of Harry’s little finger, through which she wore a thick black spiral.

“Did you get that from…?” Dean trailed off, looking uncomfortable and fascinated, and Morag laughed.

“Nah. Did it myself, back in forth year. Me, Rivers and Lovegood were very briefly in a band, and I thought it might add to our edgy image.”

“What do you play?”

“The bass. Not anymore, I had to leave it – well, I don’t have it anymore.”

“What did Luna play?” said Harry, trying to imagine his sparkly, fluffy friend in a rock band.

“The triangle,” said Morag, po-faced, and Harry collapsed with laughter.

“Say, Harry,” said Terry. He had smooth dark hair he wore in a brilliantined wave and a blazer that probably cost more than a nice broom. Harry could never quite shake the feeling that Terry might call him _old sport._ “Is Hermione coming?”

Harry had sent a Patronus up to her, but she’d sent one back down announcing that she was very busy setting up her room, and could they maybe turn the music down? “Nah, she’s busy. She was talking earlier about optimising the space in her room for learning.”

“Knowing the indomitable Ms Granger, she’ll likely develop three new fields of magic in the process,” said Terry dreamily, and Morag poked him in the side and snickered.

Susan looked ravishing in a black and silver wrap dress, and she was arguing hard with Blaise over some piece of legislation around giant rights. Harry had the impression that Blaise didn’t believe a word he was saying – every time Susan burst forth with a furry of well-formed arguments, his grin got a little bit wider.

“- and the fact that their ancestral forest homes are being turned into summer houses for rich pure-blood wizards is disgusting, Zabini.”

“But it is _such_ a nice place for a summer home,” he said, topping up her champagne. “No neighbours around for miles. Isn’t it worth knocking over a few giants for the sake of a weekend of true debauchery?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I take my artform seriously?”

“Your artform?”

“Decadence. Revelry. Surely an exquisite woman like you can appreciate the value of a good frolic.”

“I have never frolicked in my life.”

“Unacceptable. You, Susan Bones, deserve to be frolicked to the point of collapse.”

She dipped her fingers in her glass and flicked champagne at him.

The alcohol and the music and the general air of bonhomie worked to reduce Harry’s mood, but he couldn’t quite shake the Malfoy incident, so he waited till Susan had gone to get a new drink and Dean and Morag were distracted by arguing over the music – Dean wanted to put on Mariah Carey’s latest, Morag was championing something called _Nevermind –_ and leant over to Blaise.

“So, Malfoy,” he said, and Blaise sighed. Harry refused to be put off by this. “Is he going to be coming over a lot?”

“I don’t know,” said Blaise. “I mean, he’s my friend and I live here. But I imagine after tonight he’ll ask me to go over to theirs instead.”

“Where Hermione is. Great. He’s just what she needs.”

“Harry, Malfoy is not going to uni _at_ you.” Blaise sounded very, very tired. “He’s just trying to rebuild his life. Just ignore him, and he’ll ignore you. He’s served his punishment as decided by society. Doesn’t he deserve a fresh start?”

“Honestly? No. I don’t get a fresh start. I’m going to have to live with the war my whole bloody life. I see Dumbledore fall from that tower every night. Why should they?”

“Who’s they?”

“Malfoy.”

“Ah. So “they” singular.”

“And – “ Harry cast around for someone else. “And Nott.”

Blaise leaned back on his chair. “So “they” is actually “us.””

“I’m not being a dick here,” said Harry. “I get that being shitty to you just because you were in Slytherin isn’t fair, but Malfoy and Nott – they were actually involved with Death Eaters, as in the evil terrorist group that tried to kill me. That isn’t ‘let’s put it behind us’ stuff.”

“Ah,” said Blaise, “I see. Being related to bad people is the same as being one of them.” He waved his hand at Harry’s astonished look. “Yes, yes, Malfoy let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts and did evil and cunning plans and once spat in your porridge. I’m asking about what you think Nott did.”

“Well, I mean – his dad was – he was part of the Inquisitorial Squad!”

“So was I,” said Blaise. “Want to know why? Because I was fifteen and wanted to win the house cup and didn’t like you, none of which makes me a terrorist.” He leant forward. “Look, I’d like it if you stopped going on at both Nott and Malfoy, but I accept that it is – inevitable that you and Malfoy will have your – thing.” Harry wondered whether he should attempt to interpret those pregnant pauses, but decided against it. “But leave Theo out of it. I’m not going to give you the full story on his deeply disturbing childhood, because it’s not mine to tell. But he never wanted to be on either side of the war, and he did his damndest not to be. The only difference between me and him is that my mother smuggled me out of the country, and his father burnt him with lye if the Carrow’s reported he hadn’t tortured enough Muggleborns.” Blaise drank again. “And the only difference between Draco and Theo, by the way, is that Theo always knew his father was a monster and Draco made the mistake of loving his. Make of that what you will.”

And then he turned back to Seamus and Dean, apparently deciding that the conversation was over, to hold forth on the many values of Mariah Carey. As if he hadn’t just thrown a bomb into Harry’s mind.

The recommended reading list for Magical Law was only ten books long, and Hermione had already finished them by the time she’d received her acceptance letter. Luckily, two out of the ten professors she’d be taught by had the right kind of enthusiasm for a dedicated student, and they had agreed to send her an even more extended reading list. Just the site of the Royal College of Magic’s library – the shining wood shelves, the painted ceiling in the Italian style showing Prometheus stealing fire and giving it to man, the busts of great wizards on the shelves – had filled Hermione with a fire for learning.

It was possible that fire had burned a little too high.

It was _possible_ she didn’t need to get twelve books out at once.

She’d taken her new satchel, one she hadn’t Extended yet, and even with it stretched to capacity she was still balancing five thick tomes under her chin. Still, she’d made it back to her dorm intact, and as she struggled with her key card she gave thanks that she was on the ground floor, even though last night she’d seriously considered writing a letter of complaint. Someone had been blasting music above her and, even worse, it had sounded like _Thin Lizzy._

Honestly. What year was it?

“Hermione!” There was Parvati Patil, waving to her with her twin sister just outside the door to the flat. “It’s good to see you. How was your summer?”

“Thrilling,” said Hermione. “I finished all my law reading early, so then I ended up looking at Harry’s course – he’s doing teaching – and going down a rabbit hole of muggle versus wizarding law surrounding education. Did you know that legally, Muggle schools have one person who’s the point of contact for making sure that children aren’t being mistreated at home? I’ve been thinking about whether it’s possible we could implement a kind of social services in the wizard world, make sure that nobody has to leave Hogwarts over the holidays if their homes aren’t the kind of places a child should be raised. I wrote to Shacklebolt about it, and…”

She trailed off. Parvati was smiling at her politely, and Hermione suddenly remembered why she didn’t _like_ Parvati. There was something off about her whenever she was friendly to Hermione. Something that suggested she thought she was being _kind_ by having a civil conversation.

“Sorry,” said Hermione, then hated herself for apologising. “Yeah, it was great. Anyway, if you’d just let me – “ She edged towards the door, but Padma clapped her hands and squealed.

“OMG Hermione, no way. You’re not in this flat too, are you?”

“Yes.” She was wary. Padma looked far too excited for someone who wouldn’t be there.

“Well,” said Padma, giving Parvati a sly look, “I reckon you’re going to have a gooood year.” And then she giggled.

Hermione felt her cheeks burn, and pushed past the two of them. Behind her, Parvati was hissing something at her sister. She didn’t know what that meant, and honestly? She didn’t care. What? You’re going to have a good year because you’re such a bookworm, Hermione? You’re going to have a good year (sarcastic) you sad sack? You’re going to have a good year - because you weren’t paying attention to your precarious stack of books, and have now accidentally clocked someone in the chest with one, apparently.

“Oof!” Her victim doubled over, and Hermione suddenly felt, rather hysterically, that she was going to cry.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, I – Anthony!”

“Hey, Hermione,” said Anthony Goldstein, grinning. He shifted the books he’d caught into the crock of his elbow and straightened up, grinning. “It’s been a while.”

“Of course, you went to Ilvermoney for eighth year, didn’t you. How was that?”

He grimaced. “Overcrowded. But the summer in New York was the best. Here, let me get that.” He picked up her bag and slung it over his shoulder with no trouble at all, despite the fact that it was full of heavy tomes. Maybe he was windlessly lightening it, but he was also just very, very well-muscled. “Which are you?”

“Number five.”

“I’m number six. Try not to keep me up all night with your wild Gryffindor parties.” His smile was slow and teasing.

“I don’t think Gryffindor were the wild party house. I think we were all – Quidditch and glory.”

“Quidditch and glory, the unofficial house motto. Much better than the Ravenclaw’s unofficial motto.”

“Which was?”

“Homework and tears.”

She laughed. “Oh, I had a fair few nights of those.”

“I bet,” he said, grinning. He really was ridiculously good looking, with a chiselled face and delicate green eyes. “So how was eighth year at Hogwarts? Did a DADA teacher finally turn out to be useful and non-evil?”

“She was non-evil, at least,” said Hermione, grimacing as she remembered Professor Stone’s lessons. “She was very keen on Harry. He kind of ended up teaching the class a lot.”

“Well, from what I remember, that can’t have been too bad. Hey, do you remember the day you duelled me in the DA? You were terrifying. I think you were still sore from beating Ron earlier.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” She buried her head in her hands. She did remember, actually. He’d shaken her hand afterwards, with patches of his fringe still smoking. “You were very gracious about it.”

“It’s always a pleasure to be beaten by an accomplished opponent.” He smiled, and shifted her books. “Sorry, I should let you get on with studying. Knock on my door if you want to grab a drink, yeah?”

“Of course,” she said, “and you too.” She was still smiling as she closed the door behind her and threw herself into her books.

Studying could only really help for so long.

Halfway through _From Inns to In-Fights: An Intimate History of 16 th Century Magical Legal Culture, _she put her head against her books and sighed.

She’d broken up with Ron to have sex.

It sounded terrible, saying it like that. Ron and her had had sex. It had been nice. Good, in fact, once the first few times were out of the way. She’d wanted to have more – but that was the problem, she’d wanted to have sex with other people. Date other people. The horrible scientist part of her brain had sat up and said _Great, now you’ve got a baseline for what sex is, for what a relationship is. Let’s see what else is out there._

There’d been a day at the Burrow, with Molly making teasing comments about when Ron was going to ask Arthur for one of his grandmother’s rings. Arthur had leant over and clasped his wife’s hand, and Molly had leant into his touch, looking at him like he made the sun rise.

“You’re so lucky you found love young, like us,” she’d said, dreamily. “I’ve only ever been with one man, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You never have to worry about all that dating or messing around or settling down. You two know exactly what you want.”

And Hermione had sat there, quietly terrified, and thought _No I fucking don’t._

It had seemed simple at the time – go to university, meet new people, befriend new people, possibly (definitely?) have sex with new people. In her zeal for understanding all that life had to offer, she’d forgotten one little problem – people, generally, didn’t seem to want to have sex with her.

She put her head in her hands and considered crying.

Harry would know what to do or what to say. Well, no he wouldn’t, but he _would_ hug her and tell her that of course she was pretty, there were loads of blokes out there who would be lucky to have her. And he’d be biased because he had to say that, and she would know that, but it would probably still cheer her up a bit. She picked up her coat and opened the door, determined to make the best of today, and found Draco Malfoy out there, standing stiff as a board.

“Huh,” she said.

Malfoy coloured. “I was just about to knock.”

“You…were?” She tried to keep her cool. These days, seeing him didn’t bring back any memories of his hideous house, or of mad cackling laughter. She’d done a good job of telling herself that he’d suffered too, they all had under the Dark Lord, it was time to move on. It was telling that she always got stuck on the fact that he’d _suffered._

 _You taught me what that word was,_ she thought fiercely. _You taught me just how much I didn’t belong. I always knew, but you taught me the language._

“I came to apologise,” he said, all in a rush. She gaped.

He was looking at her desperately, helplessly, and she realised that he was waiting for her _permission._ Oh, she liked that. She stuck her chin out imperiously. “Go on.”

“I am aware that being near me probably brings back memories of my – memories you don’t want.” His eyes were fixed on a point just left of her shoulder. “I asked the university to change my room. Not because you’re – because I thought you wouldn’t want to see me. No one would. I’m sorry for what my family did. And what I did. I’m not trying to get rid of my personal responsibility – I’m sorry, I didn’t practise this.”

“I can tell.”

He scowled, and then seemed to remember what he was doing. “I have been rude, and prejudiced, and bigoted to you for half your life. I’m trying to make amends now. Well, I’m trying to think of ways to make amends now. AndIwouldappreciateitifyoudidn’ttellPotteraboutthis.” He took a deep, wheezing breath. “There. Ok. All finished.”

Hermione cocked her head. “You don’t want me telling Harry about this?”

Draco made a sound that might have been _no._

“So, to be clear – your apology comes with a favour?”

Malfoy made an even smaller sound that was probably a yes.

“Why?”

“Why shouldn’t you tell Potter about this?”

“I know why I shouldn’t tell Potter – oh for god’s sake, tell _Harry_ about this. I just want to know why you don’t want me to.”

Malfoy swallowed. “Because I need to say this to Potter at some point as well.” He was actually managing to look her in the eyes now. “But that will probably be quite some while in the future, given how long my pride will need to recover from this.” He caught her glare and sighed. “ _And_ because I ran into him last night, and it’s very clear that it’s not something he wants to hear yet.”

“And you thought I would want to hear it?”

“You always seemed a little more reasonable.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Malfoy,” she said, smiling a little before she remembered who she was talking to. His face shuttered.

“I see. I will – um, I’ll go.”

She felt a sudden rush of – not _softness_ for him, but something approaching that. He was just so thoroughly beaten, that was all. There was nothing of the Draco Malfoy she remembered from school, and therefore it was hard to keep hating him minute-to-minute. “I won’t tell Harry,” she said. Though she kept her tone cold. She wasn’t a _complete_ pushover.

“Thanks. Um, I suppose I’ll owe you that favour.” He turned to walk away, and she grabbed his sleeve.

“Wait.” A terrible, terrible idea was gathering in her mind, but it was one that would have no consequences. _Uni is a time for trying new things, right?_ “Ok, my favour. I’m going to ask you a question, and you have to answer absolutely honestly, and you can’t tell anyone that this ever happened.”

Draco looked at her sideways. He looked afraid. “All right.”

She straightened up, tried to radiate calm and self-respect and the general aura that she was only asking this as an intellectual exercise. “Am I attractive?”

“I’m sorry, _what?”_

“Am. I. Attractive?”

They stood in silence, eyes locked, both very clearly wondering if she’d lost her mind.

“Uh, yes. Yes, you are attractive.”

“Honestly?”

“Merlin, Granger, yes. You’re pretty, you’re intelligent, and you’ve got good sense to boot.”

“Would _you_ date me?”

“When I said I owe you a favour I didn’t mean a sexual one,” he snapped.

“That is – oh screw you, I’m asking hypothetically.”

“Oh for – no, Granger, I wouldn’t date you, but not because you’re not attractive.”

“Because of my blood?”

“No,” he said, sounding a little desperate. “But I can’t tell you the reason why, and I’m trying really hard not to lie to you in this conversation, so _please don’t ask.”_

There were another few seconds of intense, fearful eye contact from them both.

“Fine,” she said. Closed her eyes, forced herself to be calm. “Fine. Sorry. I suppose that was rather odd.”

“Rather,” he said. “Can I please, please run away now?”

“Sure,” she said, shutting the door in his face. Apology accepted, then. Maybe it was best not to visit Harry right now – in her worked up state, she’d definitely end up telling him, and then she’d have to endure Harry Talking About Malfoy.

She sighed and went back to her books.

The room had darkened considerably by the time the next knock on her door came. Probably Harry – _obviously_ Harry, because who else would it be? There was probably a limit on the number of horrifically awkward conversations on your doorstep you had to endure per day, right?

Apparently not, because there was Parvati Patil, towering about a foot over Hermione and smiling like a real human being. She smelt vaguely of cherries, and her hair looked like the silkiest thing on Earth. Hermione hated her with a fury that was beyond human.

“Hey, babe.” She was leaning against the door. “Dean sent me to tell you there’s a last-hurrah-of-Gryffindor pub night happening in about an hour. I thought maybe we could get ready together.”

Hermione resisted the urge to scowl. “Thanks, but I’ll probably just go out like this. Come get me when it’s time to leave.” She went to close the door, but Parvati had the nerve to actually stick her foot in its path.

“Woah, hey. Are you ok? You sound terrible.”

“Yes,” said Hermione. “I sound terrible and I look terrible and I’m all-over just a mess. That’s just me, Parvati. That’s just who I am. It may be hysterical to you that I actually go out looking like this, but maybe I’m just hoping to meet someone who likes a girl with a mind rather than five pounds of make-up.”

Parvati looked like a slapped snake. _Perhaps you went a little bit far there_ said the helpful Harry voice in her head. Typical of him to show up five minutes late.

“What the fuck,” said Parvati. “What the actual fuck, Hermione. I mean, I always knew you thought like that, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like you were subtle. But what have I ever, _ever_ done to deserve you being this rude to my face?”

“You’ve made it very clear what you think of me,” said Hermione, gathering steam again. “I know I’m bookish, and I know I’m not very pretty, and I know that I can’t make friends because I only have two, and I met them fighting a troll. I’m sorry if I was boring you earlier, talking about my summer, but that doesn’t mean I want you and your sister standing around giggling at me behind your hands like you always used to do. On my first day of university. _Oh Hermione, you’re going to have such a gooooooood year._ What the fuck does that even mean? Seriously – I have been going over that all day. I cannot do this passive aggressive girly stuff, ok? Just – just tell me what you mean and be done with it!”

Parvati cocked her head. “Um, ok. Wow. You seem like you’re going through a lot right now. But – yeah, I can see how what Padma said sounded really bitchy, though I’m still not sure why I have to suffer for my sister’s sins. You know we’re sharing with Anthony and Michael? And Terry’s just upstairs?”

“Yes, but I fail – “

“Ok, and I’m realising now that maybe you didn’t realise that half the Ravenclaw boys have had a crush on you since fourth year?”

Hermione opened her mouth and shut it. Opened it again. Possibly had a stroke.

“What?”

“Since the Yule ball. I mean, I think probably some of them had a crush on you anyway – you were so smart – but after the Yule ball you became, like, the Ravenclaw pin-up girl.”

“You – no.”

“Uh huh. Michael wrote a poem about you in sixth year, actually. Do you remember how you were paired with Oliver Rivers in Charms in Fifth Year? He practically took everyone else out at the knees trying to get the seat next to you.”

“He barely spoke two words to me!”

“Because you were giving him heart palpitations every time you looked at him! Teenage boys are idiots.” Parvati was laughing. “Honest, Hermione, we were laughing at the boys, not you.”

“Oh god,” said Hermione. “I think Anthony Goldstein might have hit on me today.”

“Oh my god,” said Parvati, struggling to get herself under control. “Ok. Wow. Yeah. So you’re little speech earlier, about how boys just don’t like you because you’re such a special snowflake? Not so much, babe.”

“Parvati, I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s fine. Ok, no it’s not. It’s only four pounds of make-up, I’ll have you know.” Hermione laughed, and Parvati smiled softly. “But you’re also, like, one of the three most traumatised people in the world, and I know I wasn’t exactly super-nice to you all the way through school. So, fair’s fair. Come on – peace offering make-over? I promise I’ll keep it light. Maybe just some lipstick.”

She didn’t want to, not really. She’d never thought that she and Parvati would have much in common – but she’d never thought she could be a Ravenclaw heart throb, either, or apart from Ron, or apologised to by Draco Malfoy.

She shrugged. “Yeah, ok. Thanks.”

The Last-Hurrah-of-Gryffindor was in a small muggle pub called The London Stone, which Dean had picked at random and which turned out to be a total shithole. Seamus spent over thirty minutes choosing a drink, and probably longer painstakingly counting out the Muggle money for his pint. He paid at least half of it in coppers. The stone-faced Northerner behind the bar looked like he was ready to commit murder.

“You could help him,” said Harry to Dean, who was watching Seamus with barely concealed hilarity.

“I’m helping him take his first steps into the real world,” he said. “Today he becomes a man.”

“You just like watching him fail, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Is that right?” said Seamus, pushing a small heap of coins across at him.

The bartender looked despairingly at the pile. “Let’s just say it is and call it a day.”

“Service with a smile,” muttered Harry, which earned him a sharp look.

“The Ravenclaws totally stole our idea,” said Dean as they settled onto a (distressingly sticky) table. “They’re doing a Last-Hurrah-of-Ravenclaw tonight.”

“Hanging out with your friends isn’t exactly an original concept, Dean,” said Hermione. “Anyway, none of them know anything about Muggle pubs, so they’ve ended up at a Weatherspoons.”

“Terrible,” said Seamus, with feeling. Dean caught Harry’s eyes and smiled.

Harry smiled back, but the truth was he only really knew Weatherspoons as the place that Dudley and his mates went out to underage drink.

“And meanwhile, we’re here!” Dean spread his arms and indicated their dingy surroundings. “They’ve got a pinball machine and…. And beer!”

“Pinball machine don’t work,” called the bartender.

“Well, they’ve got beer, at least.”

Parvati stared disdainfully at their pints and clutched her violently pink drink closer.

“Oh, fuck this,” said Hermione, clearing the table with a discreet charm. She looked up and found everyone staring at her with raised eyebrows. “What? Uni is about trying new things. I’m trying saying ‘fuck’. I’ve been thinking it for the past seven years.”

“That’s terrifying,” said Harry. “I thought you were thinking all kinds of clever stuff, and it was just me thinking ‘fuck’.”

“I can’t believe you two saved the world,” said Dean. “I mean, bloody well done and all that, but, you know, wow.”

“Hey Harry,” said Hermione. “Did you know that – that I – Parvati?”

“That she was the Ravenclaw Boys dorms favourite crush.”

“Really? Bloody hell, Hermione.”

“It’s a bit weird to find out too late,” she said. “I mean, I spent most of my teenage years thinking that no one fancied me – though I guess that’s was probably because I only really hung around with Gryffindors.”

“Oh yeah,” said Dean, elbowing Seamus. “Absolutely no one in Gryffindor fancied you ever. Isn’t that right, Seamus?”

Seamus was turning an interesting shade of bright red.

“Imagine,” said Dean, with a theatrical flourish, “imagine if someone had, I don’t know, asked me to draw a portrait of you – “

“Oh fuck off,” said Seamus. “It was after word got round school you had punched Malfoy. I thought you were bloody brilliant, that’s all.”

“I’m having a stroke,” said Hermione. “Why didn’t any ever ask me out? I spent seven years pining after Ron!”

“Apart from that brief interlude where you dated the most famous quidditch player in the world,” said Harry.

“Malfoy?” said Seamus.

“No, Krum.”

“No, Malfoy. Look.”

There was Malfoy, wearing – well. Wearing Muggle clothes, and leaning against the bar like a muggle, and handing over a piece of A4 paper while doing something with his mouth that was probably supposed to be friendly. Harry spun back around violently.

“What is he doing here?”

“I don’t know, mate.” Seamus threw up his hands. “It’s not like we asked him.”

“He’s – no.” Hermione was squinting at the bar. “It can’t be.”

“What?” demanded Harry.

“It looks like he’s handing in a CV.”

“A what?” said Parvati. Bloody posh people.

“A Curriculum Vitae. It’s Latin for – oh, don’t worry. It means that he’s trying to get a job.”

Malfoy get a job in a muggle pub? For some reason, the thought filled Harry with rage. Malfoy had just – he’d stood in a tower with a wand raised at Dumbledore unable to fire, and then he’d barely spoken at his trial and disappeared for eighth year, and now he was here at uni, trying to get a job in a pub as if he was some sort of normal bloke instead of – instead of Malfoy.

Before he really knew what he was doing, Harry was out of his seat and storming over. He was half considering punching him, but then Malfoy turned and saw him and his expression was so cold that Harry immediately changed tack.

“Malfoy!” He flung an arm around his shoulders, in a bad impression of drunken friendliness. “What are you doing here? Me and Malfoy went to school together,” he said to the barman. “Is he drinking you out of house and home over here?”

“I’m applying for a job,” said Malfoy between gritted teeth, and Harry stretched his grin wider and made sure his voice carried.

“That’s nice. Yeah, it’s really nice, seeing you getting a job on the right side of the law. I guess a job like this – well, it might help with those people problems, yeah? Not that you’ve ever had any work experience really, I guess.” He swung to face the barman. “You’re gonna have a job and a half with this one. I don’t think he’s ever really worked a day in his life.”

“Potter,” hissed Malfoy, but Harry was in his element.

“Of course, you won’t have as much as a problem with difficult customers with this one. One word from him and they’ll be scurrying out the door. Just make sure he doesn’t bring any of his old friends around, you know?” He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially and winked, as the barman looked between the two of them with his jaw open. “And then – “

“Potter,” Malfoy hissed again, and then – “Please.”

The shock of that one word snapped Harry out of it. He looked around, back to his table of friends – Seamus red-faced and clutching his mouth to stop the giggles, Dean looking like he’d been in a car-crash, Hermione furious, Parvati texting. Malfoy had gone pale and was staring at the floor angrily. With a little movement, he wiggled out from under Harry’s arm.

“Right, well,” said Harry, a little awkwardly. “I’ll just – um – good luck with the job hunt then, mate.” He flipped two hasty thumbs-up, and then rushed back over to his seat, feeling curiously hot.

Seamus had given up on trying to stifle his giggles. “Harry, that was – “

“It was not,” said Hermione, furiously. “It was selfish and awful and did nothing but make you feel slightly better while potentially endangering Malfoy’s education and his chance to rebuild his life. It was quite possibly the worst behaviour I have seen from you ever, Harry Potter, and I think we can both agree that I’ve seen a lot of shit from you.”

He snorted. “Rebuilding his life? Why the fuck does he get to do that, Hermione? After everything he did, after everything he did to you – “

She slammed her fist on the table. “I get to decide if I hate him for that, Harry!”

“Fine! But then I get to decide if I hate him too.”

“Fine.”

“Fine. Why does Malfoy even need a fucking job, anyway? He’s got his manor and his trust fund and – “

“Because his parents cut him off, Harry,” said Parvati, very softly.

And then the table descended into awkward silence until Dean, hero that he was, pulled out a pack of playing cards and asked everyone if they wanted to see the brill drinking game that Blaise had taught them last night.

Predictably, the universe shoved him and Malfoy together the next morning. Kind of. It slightly nudged him together. Harry did most of the rest of the work himself.

Their block didn’t have a garden, obviously, but it did have a small tarmacked square that was accessible only through the ground floor of their building, hemmed in on two sides by them and two sides by the science block. When the pub had kicked them out last night they’d all ended up in Hermione’s flat, and Parvati had gone out there to smoke, Harry going with her.

“What?” he’d said, when Hermione looked outraged. “I’ve already died twice. I’m probably unkillable at this point.”

People had laughed, but nervously.

There was a peeling green door in one of the science building walls, half hanging off its hinges, and when he and Parvati had kicked it open last night they’d found a deep cupboard, completely bare and surprisingly spider free, where they’d chain-smoked in comfort when a late-September mizzle started as Harry bitched about Malfoy.

“Hermione says I should apologise,” he’d said eventually, and Parvati had shrugged.

“I honestly care zero percent whether Draco Malfoy lives or dies,” she’d said, “but I’d do what Hermione wants before she has an opportunity to shout at you more. Your girl’s fucking scary.”

So when Harry looked out the window the next morning and saw Draco, standing in the courtyard and using the same cupboard to avoid the same mizzle as he smoked, he didn’t really think things through. This seemed like a sign from the universe. He needed to go and talk to Malfoy. It just felt right.

Or at least it did, until he actually reached the courtyard and Malfoy caught sight of him. The long drag he took of his cigarette looked like it was meant to fortify him, and the long sigh afterwards suggested that it didn’t help. Harry wrapped his arms around himself and belatedly remembered that he was still wearing his pyjamas, and that he was possibly too hungover to tell what was real and what was not. Well. No backing out now.

“Hey,” he said, jogging over to where Malfoy was smoking. He really didn’t want to do this, but there was an inner Hermione still yelling at him in his head. Why couldn’t he have dragged Parvati into his adventures instead? She seemed like she had much fewer morals. “I just wanted to apologise. That was really shitty, what I did last night.”

Malfoy’s face was stony. He took another drag of his cigarette and flicked his eyes up and down over Harry, but apparently didn’t feel the need to speak. Harry took a deep breath and tamped down the simmering anger inside him that Malfoy always seemed to bring out.

“If it helps, I told the guy behind the counter that I made it all up.” He had, actually. That had been a horrifically awkward conversation, and only Hermione’s frosty glare from their table had made him go through with it. He thought that might help but Malfoy just rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Oh fuck, you did? Really?”

“What?”

Malfoy laughed. “Potter, that place was unquestionably a shithole, and I saw the guy pocket several fivers that should have gone in the till. Making him think I was legally shady probably helped.”

“So I fucked things up for you again.”

Malfoy waved a hand. “No, no. He called me about an hour ago asking if I wanted a trial shift later today. I’ll have plenty of time to prove my dubious morality to him in person. But thank you, I suppose. For the apology and for the reputation boost.”

He turned away slightly, clearly expecting Harry to go. And he should, he’d done what he came here to do. But he was bursting with curiosity, and he never could repress that when it came to Malfoy. It was probably a bit rude to blurt out with _So, have you realised that your parents are tossers, then?_ He’d have to go the roundabout route.

“So, a pub?”

Malfoy looked a bit surprised, and then shrugged. “It seems easy enough. Plus it’s mostly in the evenings, so I can retain my night-owl lifestyle.”

“I can’t imagine you dealing with drunk people politely.”

Malfoy bared his teeth in what was nearly a smile. “Neither can I. But I guess we all have to learn new skills in this brave new world.”

“Now that you’re parents have cut you off, you mean,” said Harry, and then resisted the urge to stomp on his own foot. So much for roundabout.

“Great,” said Malfoy, frosty again. “You’re digging into my personal life. Well, turnabouts fair play, Potter. Why did you break up with the she-weasel? Finally realised you have about as much chemistry with her as you do with a chopped flobberworm? She get bored of two round of lights-off missionary position a month? Or did she just finally realise you’re an insufferable priss?”

Malfoy was aiming to hurt, but there was nothing there to wound. Harry smiled. “We were never really together. And then we were definitely never together, because she realised she’s a lesbian.” And then he waited for Draco to say something hideous so he could hex him.

“Oh.” Draco coughed. “Good for her. She can do better than you.”

“She really can,” said Harry. “Look, if you’re going to say something horrible about her being a lesbian at any point, get it out of the way now.”

Malfoy’s lips curled. “I wasn’t planning to. If I _wanted_ to get into a duel with you, Potter, there are about a million better ways to go about it. Did you come out here to apologise, or to get into another fight?”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” said Harry, even though he really, really did. Eighth year had felt too much and not enough at once, too close and far away, and sometimes Harry would have killed to hear that silky-smooth voice hissing “ _famous_ Harry Potter,” just to have something to aim all his anger at.

“Then what do you want?”

“I want you not to be here.”

“Nothing doing, I’m afraid. As you pointed out, I’m all alone in the world now. I do need to ply a trade somewhere.”

“You’ll go crawling back to your parents eventually.”

“I will never – “

“No wait, I want to guess. You had such fun guessing about me and Ginny. Did they decide you were as much a disappointment a son as you were a Death Eater? It’s not a good look, Malfoy, incompetent _and_ evil.”

“Fuck off forever, Potter. Look, I know you can be a bit slow on the uptake, so try this – the closest you’re going to get to not having me here? It’s by _ignoring_ me, the way I’m planning to ignore you. The way I was planning to ignore you last night, until you came up to me and decided to remind me that I was a shit-for-brains Slytherin who didn’t deserve a thing in this world. You _won._ You won, and you’re still fucked off at me, and I don’t care to find out why.”

“Doesn’t feel much like winning,” said Harry, without meaning too. “Half my friends are dead.”

“As are mine,” said Malfoy. He crushed his cigarette under his boot. “You’re apologies are lacking in finesse, and this conversation is going nowhere. You apologised, I’ve got a job – you can go back to shaking with rage whenever I step into the room. Get lost.”

“Brill,” said Harry, and then did.

The Sunday before lectures started, Harry finally got around to going up to London and meeting with Ron. They went to a Muggle pub, because Harry was famous in an itchy, unpleasant way now, and Ron was not without his own fans.

“There’s a girl in the class above me in training who keeps on coming to ‘spot me’ when I’m working out,” Ron said. “She feels up my shoulders something awful. I’ve got Parkinson to come with me the last few times I go just to scare the buggers away.”

“How’s the partnership going?” said Harry.

Ron shrugged. “Oh, she’s still a bitch, but it’s muted. I’m actually a bit worried about her.”

“Sorry, worried about Parkinson?”

“She’s having a really tough time of it. We have to do self-defence classes, and unless I’m paired with her they don’t hold back. She’s coming out of them way more hurt than she should be.”

“Has she spoken to Robards about it?”

“She keeps insisting that there’s nothing he could do. I don’t want to say it, but I think she might be right. It’s not like it will last forever, anyway. She’s going to be a good auror, you can tell. Eventually she’ll prove herself. I thought she might go a bit Malfoy, you know, _my father will hear about this,_ but she’s just ignoring them.”

“Malfoy’s not on great terms with his father, these days,” said Harry, and launched into everything that Malfoy had done, from generally existing – _ugh –_ to shouting at Harry in the courtyard. Ron listened attentively – more than could be said for Hermione, who’d just said “Honestly, Harry, what did you expect?” – and suggested some fantastic modifications to the kitchen that he was reasonably sure could be tweaked to only spray Malfoy.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” said Harry eventually, his pint blending with his mood to make him truly sour. “Blaise says to ignore him, Hermione says to ignore him, but I can’t, you know? He’s so – _there._ It’s not like he ever apologised, after the war.”

“Probably up to something,” said Ron, trying to keep a straight face. “Better make a magic map of Royal College and track him on it.”

Harry poked Ron in the ribs, which earned him an elbow, and the two of them tussled a bit until an elderly man at the table next to him cleared his throat and gave them a pointed glare.

“Seriously,” said Ron. “There’s nothing evil left for him to do. The only thing he could do to upset you is fight with you, and if you ignore him – sorry, I know, but she’s _right –_ he can’t do that. All he’ll do is hang around the edges being a sad sack, and that will probably help cheer you up.”

“Probably,” said Harry. Except that Malfoy had been hanging around like a sad-sack, that day in the kitchen, and it had made Harry feel worse. He’d been shaking. And even if he wasn’t up to no good, there were still questions floating around him. Why had his parents dropped him? Why had he lowered himself to working in a Muggle pub? For seven years, Harry had thought he knew pretty much everything that Malfoy was thinking, and now he didn’t have a bloody clue.

“Don’t let it get you down,” said Ron, elbowing him. “Anyway, now that Ginny’s off the table, is there anyone there who catches your fancy? I know Susan’s not exactly wank bank material, but Hannah’s quite fit, and Parvati – well.”

“Maybe,” said Harry, and pushed all thoughts of Malfoy from his mind.

Or tried to, anyway.

Following the hideous clusterfuck of the last few years, apparently the people putting together the Teaching Magic course had felt it was important that educators had a strong understanding of right and wrong (presumably to prevent any of them from viciously bullying everyone in sight to cleverly conceal their conscience). Unfortunately, it turned out that most wizards had been too busy with magic to develop intricate moral theories –

“Which explains _so much,_ ” according to Hermione.

\- so Harry found himself with Hermione (who needed to take this for Law) at the back of one of the lecturing halls of the Royal College of Magic’s Muggle sister school, Royal Holloway, listening to _Intro to Ethics 103._

“I heard that this is the most haunted uni in England,” one of the excited freshers was saying to another, as Harry struggled not to smile. “Apparently Thomas Holloway was into black magic and shit. Some say they see him running around the grounds in the form of a devilish black dog.”

“How the fuck can you tell if a black dog is actually your school’s founder?” said another.

“Did Izzy tell you that?” said a third. “Because Izzy does, like, a _lot_ of coke.”

Hermione lost her composure then, and had to quickly turn her giggle into a cough when the three girls turned round and stared at her, but Harry couldn’t find it funny. He wondered if there would ever be a time when a mention of a black dog – not even a man turning into one, just _any_ bloody black dog – wouldn’t flatten his mood.

Grimmauld Place had felt haunted when Harry went back for two weeks over the summer. It was haunted, obviously, but – _more_ haunted. He’d had Hermione and Ron over on separate evenings, back to back, until it became undeniable that they were only coming over because they pitied him.

“You should come to the Burrow, mate,” Ron had said. “It’s not like things are awkward between you and Ginny.”

They were, but not because of the break-up. They were awkward because Ginny was crying a lot now, and Harry didn’t know how to deal with that, didn’t know if he had the right to. They were awkward because someone would always end up glancing to Fred’s hand on the clock, permanently pointing to _Lost._ They were awkward because having Harry around had only made everything worse for their family, and they were too determined to treat him as though it hadn’t.

Harry should have had a family waiting for him on the other side of all this. He should have had Sirius, and Remus, and a house they would have cleared of ghosts together.

“I think the night Sirius died was the night I became ok with the idea of not making it through the war,” he’d said, and Ron had nodded at the non-sequitur and held Harry’s hand.

Sirius had been drunk a lot, during Harry’s time with him at Grimmauld Place. Sometimes he’d called Harry _James._ Snape had cared because of his mother, and Sirius had cared because of his father, and Dumbledore had cared because Harry was a weapon. Maybe only Remus had cared for Harry himself, and in the end it didn’t matter because they were all dead, dead, dead.

Of course, as if summoned by Harry having a flashback to the war, Malfoy strolled in. Harry felt Hermione grab his hand.

“He’s just hear for his course, Harry,” she said. “Don’t – “

“What, tell the lecturer that he’s a vile criminal shit? I told you, ‘Mione, I apologised to him. I’m just going to do what Blaise said. Ignore him.”

“Right. What Blaise said,” she said, but Harry wasn’t listening. Malfoy was sitting right on the front row, straight ahead, with his notebook laid neatly in front of him. He hadn’t even turned around to look at Harry. Possibly he didn’t know he was there. How could he not know? Harry felt like he had a Malfoy-sense that was constantly pinging whenever the bastard was around. He had an honest-to-god Muggle pen in his hands. Where had he even gotten a Muggle pen from? Had he stolen it from a Muggle?

Harry was so engrossed in the mystery of Malfoy and the ball-point that he watched him make notes for a good twenty minutes, until he remembered that if people were making notes it probably meant the lecture had started. Ah, well. He’d conquered the mysteries of some of the most complex transfigurations, and he’d managed to get his Animagus form in three months. He could definitely follow along with simple right and wrong.

“I don’t know what right and wrong is anymore,” he said an hour and a half later, pouring over the notes he’d managed to take in the lecture (mostly question marks and the occasional name). “I knew, Hermione. I knew and then that man broke me.”

“Ok,” said Hermione. “Don’t panic. Let’s go over it again.”

 _Again_ would make it the third time.

The assignment was to examine the pros and cons of three broad ethical theories – deontology, virtue ethics or utilitarianism – in seven hundred and fifty words. Harry had written seven – _In this essay I will try to –_ and Hermione had made him cross out _try_ and replace it with _attempt._

“Could you not make _one_ exception to your no-doing-homework rule,” said Harry, in his best I-saved-the-world-please-give-me-stuff tone. He didn’t use it often, so it didn’t work terribly well.

“Virtue ethics determines an action’s rightness or wrongness depending on whether or not it aligns with a particular set of virtues,” she said, ignoring him completely.

“Right, but which?”

“Any, Harry, that’s not the point – you just pick _something_ and you decide that that’s your standard, and you hold up every single action to it.”

“Right.”

“Really.”

“Ok, still confused. So virtue ethics is my weak one. Go on with the others.”

“All right, so utilitarianism – bugger.” Her wand had started to chime. “Harry, I’m sorry. I’m going for cocktails in London with Parvati tonight, and I need to leave now if I want to be ready in time.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” he said bravely, and Hermione rolled her eyes and kissed the top of his head.

“I’ll help you out tomorrow, if I’m not too hungover.”

“Hermione!”

“A time for trying new things, Harry!” she called back. He smiled and turned back to his page.

An hour later he now had eight words. _In this essay I will attempt to understand._

“Struggling, Potter? That doesn’t surprise me.”

Harry jumped. The library was dark and quiet this time of night, and for a second he thought it was a ghost – maybe Snape’s, chasing him down from Hogwarts to sneer about his academics here too. But it was only Malfoy, tense and irritable and looking strangely like he’d been crying.

“What, cause I’m so thick?” said Harry. “Says something about you that you were beaten by me, doesn’t it?”

Malfoy bared his teeth. “Because you would never, _ever_ bother to understand someone else’s ideas of right and wrong.”

“I don’t – “

“Pansy got beaten again today, Potter.” Malfoy leant over his desk until he was inches away from Harry’s face. “I get that I’ll always be hated. I understand that I’ll always be the monster in your story. But _Pansy?_ Why can’t anyone be fucked to understand why she did what she did? Because she’s a Syltherin? Because she was friends with me? Or just because the famous Golden Trio didn’t like her?”

“You know what?” He leant in closer to. See how Malfoy liked it when someone got in his face. “I would _love_ to understand why she tried to give me up. I really would. Because it would be better than knowing that sometimes people are just cold, selfish _monsters.”_

Malfoy pulled his arm back, and Harry wondered for a wonderful second if he was actually going to punch him in the face. But instead Malfoy swung his hand down, his finger landing on top of Harry’s reading, a triumphant smile on his face.

Harry looked between the smile, the finger, and the bit of page it had landed on seemingly at random.

“I don’t understand.”

Malfoy turned a little bit redder. “ _Utilitarianism,_ Potter.”

“No, like. I really don’t understand.”

Malfoy covered his face. “Merlin and Morgana both, Potter. It was supposed to be a joke, you can’t tell me you actually don’t – ugh, whatever. Utilitarianism is the belief that whatever makes the most people the happiest is the right thing to do. It’s simple maths. One life – yours – for the lives of two-hundred and eighty students in that school. Do you understand? Pansy was trying to do the right thing.”

“Huh,” said Harry, scribbling down a note. “Thanks. That makes sense.”

“What?”

“What? Oh, your explanation, not Pansy’s reasoning. Sorry, that’s still bullshit. Two-hundred-and-eighty-people for one – fine, I get that. I was ready to make the same bargain, ok? But she wasn’t just for giving me up, she was ready to surrender to Voldemort and let him win. How many creatures are there in the magical world, Malfoy? More or less than two-hundred and eighty? Kind of throws Pansy’s calculations off a bit, doesn’t it? What about the Muggles? There’s eight billion of them in the world, apparently. When would Voldemort have stopped?”

“I didn’t say she was right,” said Malfoy. “I’m just saying – she wasn’t blindly trying to save her own life. She was doing a calculation.”

“A wrong one.”

“Still, can’t you just – “ He stopped, and all the anger seemed to leave him. “She gets hexed, every day. Sometimes when she floo-calls me she’s black and blue. Please, you have to – I don’t know, give an interview to the Prophet and say you don’t blame her and you hope she has a nice life?”

He looked a little bit lost, and lot bit broken. His face was still so close. There was something extraordinary about his eyes, when they weren’t full of fury – so large and open. Malfoy must have misread Harry’s face, because he bit his lip and moved even closer. “Please, Potter. She’s my Granger.”

“All right,” said Harry. “I’ll do – I don’t know, something.” Malfoy nodded and drew away at that, leaving Harry a little bit shaken. “And I’ll talk to Ron, too,” he said quickly. “I mean, he probably already knows. I’m pretty sure they partnered her with him because of it.”

“What?” Draco’s eyes were expressive things, now that he looked properly. For one thing, the rest of his face was completely calm while his eyes were very, very _sharp._

“Ron is Pansy’s partner? In auror training?”

“Huh.” Draco shook his head, not in disbelief but more like a dog trying to shake off a fly. “Well. I suppose she knows I can’t bear to hear about the weasel. Thank you, Potter.”

“Can you do something for me though?”

“Could I launch myself into the sun instead?”

Harry flipped him off. “We’ll leave that as plan B. Can you explain the rest of this shite to me? The utilitarianism bit was very useful, thanks.”

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ – fine, sure. What’s next? Deontology? All right, that one’s simple, it’s just following rules. Oh, my mistake, _now_ I see why you’d find this one difficult.”

“Har fucking har. I get that. I’m just struggling to think of cons for it.”

“You’re struggling to think of cons - ? Potter, I realise this is territory I’ve already used for a joke, but _you’re_ struggling to think of _cons_ for having a system of rules – “

“Yeah, yeah, but those were just school rules,” Harry said. “Having a system of rules for what’s right and what’s wrong sounds like a pretty solid idea. Sure, you have to argue about what those rules are, and yes, I know nobody is going to end up agreeing on one thing, but the actual idea behind it is sound.”

“Hmm.” Draco sat down in the chair opposite Harry and tapped his nails thoughtfully against the desk. “Yes, ok. Casting an Unforgivable is wrong, right?”

“Of course.”

“That’s a rule we both agree should exist – don’t cast Unforgivables?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever cast an Unforgivable?” He held up a hand at Harry’s splutter. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not going to _tell_ anyone. Have you?”

“Yes,” said Harry, thinking of that Imperio, and those poor Ministry employees.

“Was it to do something good?”

“Yes,” he said. “Ok, so sometimes rules that should be broadly followed don’t cover extreme situations. But that’s not a problem with the idea of rules itself. You just need better rules – _You can’t cast an Imperio unless it’s to save someone’s life.”_

“There’s always going to be an exception to that rule,” said Malfoy. “I can’t think what it is, but I just know it. Think of Umbridge.”

“Yeah, I’d definitely never cast an Imperio to save her life.”

“ _Not_ what I meant. I meant think of her fucking Decrees. God, I hated that bloody woman.”

“You were – “

“Yes, I remember. I burned my Inquisitorial Squad badge in a tasteful ceremony in the Manor gardens shortly before I left the house forever. Umbridge was only headmaster for, what, six months? And in that time she had to make about six hundred rules just to cover every single situation, because you sneaky bastards kept on finding a way to get around them.”

“You’re always going to have to be making new rules,” said Harry.

“Exactly,” said Draco. “Until they get so specific they’re barely rules at all, just descriptions of situations. _You may cast the Cruciatus curse only if someone has kidnapped children and tied them up in a forest that you are at least seventy-five percent sure is infested with werewolves and you need to get their location, and even then only on the night of a full moon if you are more than five hours away from civilization.”_

“Good rule.”

“Thanks.”

“All right.” Harry picked up the sheet. “Virtue ethics. This one I don’t have a fucking clue about. What virtue?”

“Give me a second.” Draco was drumming his fingers again, his expression thoughtful. “Ok. Which Hogwarts house is morally the best, in terms of what it believes?”

“Gryffindor,” said Harry without thinking, and then scowled at himself. “Sorry, I know I sound like a twat. But intelligence and patience are very nice, but they’re not really moral ideals, are they?”

“I think you might have left one out,” said Draco sardonically. “I kid, of course. Though bravery isn’t necessarily a moral ideal either, you understand.”

“Being brave is the right thing to do,” said Harry, leaning forward again. He wondered if they were going to fight again. It didn’t feel like they were going to, but there was a humming in his blood. When he moved, Draco moved closer too.

“Isn’t patience?”

“I needed to – _we_ needed to be brave to save the world.”

“And Granger’s intelligence didn’t help at all.”

“Intelligence can be used to do bad things to,” said Harry, feeling bizarrely like he might be having _fun._ “No one’s saying Voldemort wasn’t smart, for fuck’s sake.”

“So can bravery. Dear old Aunt Bella wasn’t scared a day in her life, and I give thanks every day that she’s dead. She was also loyal, so there’s a Hufflepuff value used for the bad side too.”

“What about Slytherin values?”

“You played dead,” said Malfoy, his eyes glittering. His lips were curved in something dangerously like a smile. “Pretty cunning of you.”

There was a moment where the library seemed to hold its breath, where their back and forth reached its natural point, and Harry was seized with the sudden urge to – to take Malfoy’s hand, to smile, to laugh, something that would mark this moment and keep it. He leant forward again, and Malfoy jerked a bit, his astonishing eyes going through ten different changes as he moved forward, then quickly away.

“So. Virtue ethics. You pick something to venerate – bravery, intelligence, patience and loyalty – and you decide whether an action is right or wrong based on how well it measures up to those virtues.”

“I think you missed one out there,” said Harry softly.

Draco grinned. “I thought we were the evil house.”

“All right, no houses are intrinsically good or evil or better. I get your point.”

“That’s the problem with virtue ethics. Goodness and bravery are all very well, but who decided those were the virtues that you should measure yourself up against? Dumbledore? The Weasley’s? That bloody hat?”

“Who decided the values you live by?”

Malfoy’s face darkened. “My parents, for a while.”

“You believed them.”

“I did.” He stood up quickly – not angrily, but with finality. “The problem is that you and Granger have completely different studying styles.”

“What ethical system would you say Hermione lives by?”

Malfoy smiled. “Granger? Have you ever heard of a Muggle called Kant? Personally I think he’s bloody inflexible, but then so is Granger. All right, I’ve helped you out enough. My teeth practically hurt with all the altruism. I’ll see you around, Potter.”

“Sure, no problem,” said Harry, not looking up as he began to frantically scribble his essay plan.

“This is a test, isn’t it,” said Hermione. “You’re trying to see if I say something about the bar.”

Parvati smirked. “Why would you say anything about the bar, Hermione?”

“Oh no, I’m not falling for that.”

The bar was called _Tonight Josephine,_ apparently after Napoleon’s wife who was, in the words of the abbreviated biography on the cocktail menu, “a real badass bitch” who paved the way for women around the world. Hermione wasn’t quite sure what being the wife of a despot who tried to conquer half of Europe helped pave the way for. Perhaps Eva Peron and Imelda Marcos were thankful.

The bar was violently pink, hideously crowded and swelteringly hot in its single underground room. They were currently sharing a table with eight other people. There was a sign by the staircase that read WELL BEHAVED WOMEN DON’T MAKE HISTORY in neon letters, constantly surrounded by girls squatting for pictures in front of it.

Hermione’s drink was flavoured with Parma Violets, and came with a little packet of the sweets balanced on top. It had cost the better part of twenty pounds.

“That quote is misused,” said Hermione.

“What, the well behaved women one?”

“Yes. It comes from an article by Laurel Ulrich, written about female Puritans in the United States. They _were_ well behaved women. Her point was that women only get written about when they do something big and crazy and break the mold. The vast majority of women were out there doing exactly what they were supposed to do, living up to the female ideal. They lived these quiet, unexciting lives probably filled with a thousand quiet dramas, shaping history in their own way, but they don’t get written about. They get ignored.”

“I didn’t expect you to be a defender of women who did what they were supposed to,” said Parvati.

Hermione flushed. “I suppose not.”

“Isn’t that what all the girls here are doing? Fitting the female mold?”

“You think this is making history?” Parvati raised an eyebrow, and Hermione sighed. “Yeah, yeah. You got me. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not trying to catch you out,” said Parvati. “I’m trying to understand.”

Hermione traced her fingers around the rim of her glass. “I spent my whole life knowing I couldn’t be this. And that should have been fine, you know? Sure, I’m not very pretty and I’m not very friendly, but I’m fucking _smart._ But it was never enough. A lot of it was _oh good on Hermione, she’s such a good witch despite her birth._ Even from people who didn’t believe in blood purity, who just thought that the thing to overcome was a Muggle childhood. But a lot of it was – _oh Hermione, you’re such a good witch, thank god you’ve got that to make up for your teeth and your hair.”_

“The hair thing was just racism,” said Parvati.

Hermione raised her glass. “Yeah, I hear that. I don’t know.”

“You dolled up for the Yule ball, though.”

“I did, didn’t I. And you know what I got? I got Ron screaming at me and lots of articles written about how pretty I was that night, all with a nasty undertone of _I wonder if she’s put out for Krum._ I was fourteen, for fuck’s sake. He was eighteen. He was just being nice. He’d seen the articles Skeeter put out about me and Harry and he wanted to cheer me up, because he’s a gentle giant. I knew that, I just pretended I didn’t. Only two boys asked me to the Ball, and one was just being kind, and the other had run out of people to go with.”

“Ron.”

“Yeah.” She took a sip of her drink. The overpowering sweetness did nothing to mask the taste of vodka. “God. I’m sorry I took this all out on you. I wasn’t even mad at you. I guess in my head I’ll always be fifteen and mad at – “ She stopped, realising she’d trod on a land mine.

“Lavender,” said Parvati quietly.

“I’m so sorry. That was such a shitty thing to say.”

“I get it,” said Parvati. “Even though you won in the end, there will always be this memory of the time you weren’t enough.”

“Won,” said Hermione bitterly. “Well, I broke up with Ron, so I guess no one wins this round.” Parvati was looking away into the distance, her eyes glimmering.

“I’m sorry about Lavender,” said Hermione, softly. “I can’t imagine if – if I’d lost Ron or Harry.”

Parvati smiled into her drink. It was a reflex smile – the kind you did so that your face didn’t do anything else. “Well. We were probably more like – I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Tell me if I’m out of line but – how would you feel if you’d never got to kiss Ron after the battle? I know you broke up, but – eight years leading up to something, you needed to know, right?”

“You and Lavender – “

“We were headed somewhere. I think.” She stirred her cocktail absently. “Nothing happened. A couple of ‘let’s learn how to kiss’ kisses, a few things we didn’t talk about. You know I wanted to kill Ron Weasley for the whole of fifth year? I could never work out why he annoyed me so much.”

“To be fair, I wanted to kill Ron for most of the last seven years.” It was only a half-truth, but it was worth it for the way Parvati laughed. They fell silent for a few minutes, and then Hermione looped her fingers around Parvati’s wrist.

“She was brave, facing down a werewolf like that. She sorted well.”

She tried to put everything she was thinking about into those three words. That she’d been wrong, every time she’d looked at Lavender and just seen frills and flirtation and girliness. That there had always been bravery in her, even in the moments Hermione had written off – that it was brave, actually, to throw yourself at the sports hero in the middle of the common room and hope for the best. That everything she’d ever thought about Lavender, and Parvati by extension, had been more about herself than the two of them. That there were more ways to be brave than she counted.

Parvati shifted so that their hands were loosely entwined.

“Yeah. She did.”

The next morning, Harry sat up in bed suddenly with his brain aflame.

_My parents did. For a while._

Had Malfoy changed his mind? Not just murmured false reassurances because he’d lost the war, but actually, truly realised what he’d done wrong?

It all made sense, when he put it together. Malfoy had been cut off by his parents. Malfoy was working in a Muggle pub. Had he challenged his father? Had he genuinely fought with Lucius Malfoy?

Harry would have paid the whole of his Gringott’s vault to see that exchange.

He got dressed quickly, and hurried down to Hermione’s flat. Each flat technically had a password, the same as Hogwarts, but everyone had known everyone else’s by the end of the first day. He made his way to Hermione’s room and rapped lightly with his fist.

After a few seconds, he rapped harder.

After another minute, he fully banged.

“Bleurgh,” said Hermione, when she opened the door. “What time is it? I hate you.”

“It’s nine,” said Harry. “Hermione, I think I’ve had a revelation.”

“It’s eight forty-five, you fucking liar,” said Hermione. “Come in, then. Oh, wait, don’t. I need to throw up. I’ll be right back.”

She slammed the door in his face. From inside, Harry heard the unmistakable sound of vomiting. Harry hummed tunelessly and tapped his foot.

“All right, Harry?” There was Terry Boot, making his way down the corridor and looking particularly hale _._ “Are you looking for Hermione?”

“Yeah, she’s just throwing – on some clothes. Looking for Anthony?”

“Actually, I was looking for your girl there. But I see I’ve been beaten to it.” Terry gave a gracious half-bow, carried with just enough good humour to make it seem less ridiculous. “I’ll catch her some other time.”

 _That was odd,_ thought Harry, then _Ravenclaw dorm crush?_

“Great,” said Hermione, opening the door. “You’ve had a revelation. I’m so hungover that I’d willingly welcome death right now, so I’ll probably just be making “uh-huh” noises a lot while you talk. Maybe sprinkle in a few “yeah, sures” for variety.”

“I think Terry Boot just came by to ask you on a date,” said Harry. “I might have accidentally scared him off. Sorry.”

Hermione waved a hand. “Probably for the best. I’m not looking my most datable right now.”

“Do you want to go out for breakfast?”

“I don’t want to leave my bed, Harry. Let’s eat in the kitchen.”

“We’ll go upstaors to mine,” said Harry, grabbing her hand. Malfoy was here, and who knew how thin the walls were? “I’ve got bacon. And tea.”

“Coffee.”

“We can steal some from Blaise. He’s got some fancy Italian shit. Come oonnnnn.”

As they worked their way through Harry’s attempt at a fry-up – it was passable, even if it had nothing on Molly Weasley’s – he talked through his theory, going into great detail about their conversation last night. Hermione, true to her word, kept up a steady stream of encouraging monosyllables. At last Harry ran out of steam, and looked at her expectantly.

“All right,” she said, chewing on her last strip of bacon. “Good theory.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, really? That’s it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Harry. Hooray, Malfoy’s changed? What does that change for you?”

“Hermione, it changes everything.”

“How?”

“It… It…” It just felt important, somehow. There was some alchemy there, in Malfoy’s change and his big expressive eyes and the way Harry had felt as they debated. “It means I don’t have to worry about him doing something evil this year.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that will make you less obsessed with him.”

“What?”

“Sorry, sorry. Wow, hangovers really do away with my normal tact. Harry, it’s good Malfoy’s changed, but was this really worth getting me up so early for?”

“Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care. I’m happy. I just wonder if you know why _you_ care so much.”

Harry was saved from having to answer that by Michael Corner coming into the kitchen. He lit up when he saw Hermione.

“Hey, Hermione. Hey, Harry. How’s things?”

“Great,” said Harry, as Hermione muttered “Spectacular” under her breath, stealing a piece of Harry’s bacon. “What are you doing down here?”

“Just looking for Terry,” said Michael. “I’m kind of at a loose end, you see. There’s this open mic poetry reading I want to go to tonight, and I’m trying to find someone to go with. Say, Hermione – “

“Boys!” Blaise burst into the room. “And Granger. Hallo, did you know that I’m Harry approved and definitely non-evil now?”

“He tells me everything,” said Hermione. “Literally. Everything.”

“Great, great. Anyway, guess what we’re doing tonight?”

“Does it involve nudity?” said Harry, who had heard a great many Blaise stories on the champagne night.

“Only potentially. One of the Ilvermony lads in my lectures – George, second year, you’d like him – is having a house party and he told me to invite “literally everyone I know.” So that’s what I’m doing. What do you say? Booze, bad music, scandal, possibly drugs – it has everything.”

Michael twitched. “Well actually, I was just about to invite – “

“I’m down,” said Hermione.

Harry stared at her. “What?”

“I’m down. What time is it? I probably won’t have worked off this hangover by then, so who cares if I get a new one?”

Blaise beamed. “We’ll meet down here for pres at six and then I’ll take you over. I’ll run upstairs and get the others. Harry? Michael?”

“I guess?” said Harry, as Michael sulkily muttered “Sure.”

“Great!” said Blaise, bounding away. Last night he’d had to be carried in by two strangers, neither of who knew his name and one who didn’t speak English. Harry was pretty sure he’d slept on the kitchen table. The man was a marvel.

“I don’t know about this,” said Michael. “I came to university to pursue pleasures of the mind. It feels like all everyone here wants to do is get wasted in increasingly inane ways. Don’t you think, Hermione?”

“Nah,” she said. She was eyeing a tomato with mistrust, her mouth full of Harry’s toast. “It sounds sick. I’m gonna get Parvati to do my make-up. What do you think, Harry?”

“I think it sounds great.”

He was excited. University was a time for trying new things, and Harry was sure that he was going to love house parties.

Harry hated house parties.

The music was too loud, and the drinks were shit, and almost everyone here was an American. A lot of them kept coming up to him and _thanking him for his service._ People were rapidly careening towards that kind of too-fierce drunkenness, propelled by social awkwardness, that could only possibly end in sex or a fight. This was not a place for making friends. This was a meat market, and Harry didn’t want any meat. Well, maybe the nice tasty bacon of a date, but not the whole sausage – and now he was getting off track with his metaphors.

“This is fun!” said Hermione, clutching her drink closer. She’d bought her own bottle of wine, and was keeping it in her handbag. “Isn’t this fun, Harry?”

“Totally,” said Harry, without feeling.

“Blaise is having fun,” said Hermione redundantly. Blaise Zabini could have looked like he was having fun in a hole in the ground. He certainly looked so now, surrounded by a group of people who were bellowing laughter at his stories. They were probably all fake, thought Harry bitterly. Maybe he was just too old for this kind of thing. Maybe he’d missed his chance to be the kind of person who liked getting drunk and snogging strangers. The thought was depressing, and he decided he couldn’t get through this sober.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, jerking his thumb towards the kitchen. “I just need to get a drink.”

The kitchen was thankfully mostly empty, except for a couple copping off on the counter that Harry tried not to look at too closely. His eyes skated over without him meaning to as he was pouring himself a generous measure of JD, however, and then he stopped dead and narrowly avoided dropping the bottle.

Because there was Malfoy. Getting off. With a boy. He was pushed up onto the counter, his arms twined round the back of one of the Ilvermony lads, pushing into him with little rolls of his hips. He was moaning, actually moaning, pornographic and deliberate and probably much better than Harry sounded when he was having sex. His mouth was on the boys neck, nuzzling in, pulling back with a soft wet sound and leaving behind a bruised purple mark.

His eyes flicked up and he caught sight of Harry watching them. He realised too late what a pervert he probably looked like, standing there shellshocked. A complicated tangle of emotions crossed Malfoy’s face, until it settled on anger.

“Potter,” said Malfoy. “What are you doing.”

“What the fuck,” said Harry, all thoughts deserted.

The other guy turned around. He was good looking, Harry supposed, if you liked them dark and rumpled. “Do you know this guy, Draco?”

“We went to school together,” said Malfoy. “He was just leaving. I’m sure he has better things to do than hang around here, watching a private moment.”

“Right,” said Harry, sounding terrified. Malfoy and the other boy had already gone back to snogging. “So I’ll just – go then. Right. Bye.”

And he fled back into the party, trying to avoid anyone’s gaze. He found Susan and Blaise in the corner, and settled in next to them. They were safe. They weren’t doing anything confusing, like throwing Harry’s clearly set ideas about them after eight years down the drain.

Well, they were doing something confusing. They were either flirting or fighting or bitching about every other person in the room.

“Ugliest dress,” said Blaise.

“Girl in the corner in yellow,” said Susan. “Very tricky colour to pull off, especially with her complexion. I should know. Those damn Hufflepuff ties were the bane of my life.”

“I’m sure you’d look devastating in yellow, Bones. Anyway, you can’t denounce a dress based just on the colour. Look at the girl leaning against the sound system. What a bloody mess. Oh, colour-wise it’s fine – “

“Is it? I mean sure, there’s nothing wrong with peach. Absolutely nothing wrong. It’s like she bypassed anything with flair and went straight to the don’t-notice-me section of the colour wheel.”

“You’re magnificent,” said Blaise, knocking his drink against hers. “And the cut! I mean, high-low hemlines are fine, but you need a good sweep between them. The sudden drop makes her look like a Lego figure.”

Harry silently vowed to never find out how Blaise knew about Lego.

“Are those frills around the neckline?” said Susan. “God, they are. Who’s still wearing frills in this day and age?”

“I personally very much approve of frills. Especially on lingerie, Susan. You may want to take note.” He winked at her. “But you have to commit to frills, you know? Build an armour of frou-frou. That sad thing looks like she’s just sewn a rag around her neck.”

It was nice there, in the bubble of Blaise and Susan’s meanness. Harry wanted to stay there forever, but unfortunately nature called, and he stood up to make his way to the bathroom. Or the bathroom queue, anyway. It didn’t seem to be moving at all, and by the time Harry had made his way to the front he was almost crossing his legs and bouncing, and had worked his way up into quite a fury.

Of course, the person coming out just as he went in was Malfoy. Who Harry hadn’t seen in the queue, which meant that he’d pushed his way in, the arse.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him when Harry stared at him in mute horror. “What? Oh god, are you pissed off about what happened in the kitchen? Should have known the she-weasel leaving would make you a homophobe.”

“Is that why your parents cut you off, Malfoy?” said Harry, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

“Of course,” said Malfoy, equally nasty. “Can’t have a poofter as the heir to the Malfoy line, can they?”

“Oi, Chosen One,” yelled someone from the back of the line. “Can you get a bloody move-on?”

“With pleasure,” said Harry, not taking his eyes off Malfoy. He slammed the door behind him, and brooded furiously while he pissed.

When he came back out, he found Blaise and Susan in the garden, joined by Dean and Seamus. They had also managed to get hold of some weed, and Harry took the proffered joint from Blaise’s fingers.

“So I found out why Malfoy’s parents cut him off,” he said without preamble, interrupting another of Blaise’s stories.

“Oh yeah?” said Dean. “Did they get sick of his moping?”

“He’s gay,” said Harry, trying to keep his voice even. “They cut him off because he was gay.”

“No,” said Susan. “No way.”

“He told me himself. I’ve spent all this time running through the reasons they’d do that, and it’s just because he’s queer.”

“Why do you even care, Harry?” said Blaise, lighting another joint. There was a tight edge to his voice. “You’ve made it very clear that you don’t think well of him. So he’s a poofter, and you don’t approve. Surely that can’t be very high up on the list of terrible things he’s done.”

“It’s not about his sexuality! I guess – “ Harry shrugged. “I guess I was just beginning to think that I could think well of him one day. Maybe. Possibly. Because I thought if he’d been cut off by his parents it meant that he’d had a fight with them about their values. Finding out that he got cut off because he’s gay means that he probably still thinks in that shitty way.”

Blaise’s laugh was roaring. “Oh, Harry. His parents have always known he was gay. They caught him sucking me off the summer before sixth year.”

Harry frowned. “But he said – “

“Yes, I’m sure he said whatever he could to get a reaction from you,” said Blaise, rolling his eyes. “God love him, he is very predictable. No, you were right about why they cut him off, Harry. He cut himself off, rather. Decided that the Malfoy money was tainted with blood and he couldn’t stand to be around his father anymore.”

“So you’re gay?” said Dean.

“I’m bisexual,” said Blaise. “In case any of the ladies present want to make use of me.”

Susan laughed. “What poor use they could make of me.”

“I do love to be treated poorly.”

“How so?”

“My kinks are wide and varied.”

“I do hope denial is one of them.”

“I believe denial is your things, Bones.”

“And how is that?”

“Denial of how very badly you want me.”

“Are you two going to be like this all night?” said Dean, desperately.

Susan raised an eyebrow. “No. I’m going to take a piss. Do try and contain your disappointment, Blaise.”

“Um,” said Harry, as Susan walked away. “Not to sound stupid, but what does bisexual mean?” There hadn’t been much sex ed at Hogwarts, and the Dursley’s had treated anything other than being straight as if it was some kind of unmentionable disease. He really hoped it wasn’t another kink thing – he was still trying to bleach his brain after Blaise had explained what a “golden shower” was.

“It means I like men and women. I swung both ways. Very liberally, if that interests you.” He winked at Dean. Harry expected a scoff, or a polite brush off. But Dean just smiled, in a way that he had definitely never smiled in the common room. Smiled with intent. 

“Get me another drink first, and we’ll see how far I can swing.”

Blaise grinned again, his expression wolfish. “Is that how it is? All right Thomas, what’s your poison? Wait, don’t tell me. I pride myself on being able to find a drink for every occasion.”

He passed the joint to Seamus, who had gone as red as a tomato, and set off towards the house. Dean, Harry noted, followed his movements with interest, his eyes fixed firmly on – well, his arse.

“What the fuck was that?” Seamus exploded, as soon as Blaise was out of earshot. “Just as soon as I’m beginning to think he’s all right, he goes and carries on like that in front of us.”

“Carries on like what?” said Dean.

“Hitting on you!” said Seamus. “Dean, seriously. Couldn’t you tell? He’s trying to gobble your prick, mark my words.”

“So what?” said Dean. “What’s wrong with that?”

Seamus looked at Dean, then at Harry, who kept his eyes firmly downward. “I’m just saying, we won’t be able to have any more drinks with him.”

“Why not?” Dean’s tone was a marvel. He had drawn himself up to his full height – not inconsiderable – and was staring Seamus straight down. He looked polite, questioning, a little confused, as if someone had just presented him with the wrong dish at a restaurant. Only his eyes and his voice were hard as ice. Harry uncomfortably remembered that Dean had spent most of the war living underground, on the run from the government, and was perhaps not quite the affable chap that Harry remembered.

“Because he’ll – you know. He’ll get us drunk and try and have his way with us.”

“If all that’s separating you from sucking Zabini’s cock is a drink or two, maybe you’re not that straight,” said Dean. He was snarling now.

Seamus looked like he was slapped. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“What, it’s disgusting to like blokes?”

“I’m just saying, waving it around like that – “

“I think Blaise is coming back,” said Dean, clearly a lie. “Maybe you should go. You’re pretty pissed right now, Seamus. You might end up getting buggered in the hedge.”

“You know what?” Seamus stood up, pushing himself into Dean’s space. “Maybe I should. There’s lots of things I don’t need to see.”

And he stormed off towards the house, taking the joint with him. Dean stayed still and unmoving as a statue, until Harry laid a hand on his arm.

“You all right?” said Harry. “That was – intense. Sorry I didn’t step in.”

Dean relaxed. “No, I – I needed to say that to him myself. I didn’t know he thought like that, you know? Especially since – “ He stopped. “Do you think like that, Harry? It’s not actually Malfoy being gay that’s bothering you, is it?”

“What? No. No, Seamus was being a right cock. Who cares if Malfoy is gay? Or Zabini, for that matter?”

“He’s bi,” said Dean. “And so am I. I thought Seamus knew. It’s not like I ever came out or anything, but I’ve spoken about guys I think are fit before. I guess he always thought I was joking. And I thought – “ He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I must have been delusional. So now I either have to keep this secret for the rest of my life, or lose him forever.”

“That won’t happen,” said Harry. “Look, Seamus was a cock just then. But it’s kind of easy to hate Blaise. If you tell him, he’ll have to re-examine his views, won’t he? He’s your best friend. He’ll realise you’ve been mates for eight years without you ever trying to touch his cock, and he’ll get the fuck over himself.”

Dean laughed, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose. Where’s Hermione, by the way?”

“You’re not trying to get in her pants too, are you?”

“Hermione? No, why? Not that she’s not lovely, mind.”

“I think half the Ravenclaw boys are. Michael Corner tried to invite her to some poetry thing tonight, and Terry Boot wanted to have breakfast with her this morning.”

“Found her,” said Dean, scanning the garden. “Looks like they’ve been beaten out. She’s looking pretty cosy with Anthony over there.”

Harry turned. Hermione was indeed snuggled up next to Anthony, perched on an overturned Tesco trolley. Anthony was trying to put a traffic cone on her head as she giggled and batted him away. She saw Harry looking and waved at him, and he barked a “be right back” at Dean and bounded over.

“Hey, Harry,” she said. Anthony abandoned the traffic cone and leaned into her, his arm coming up around her shoulders. “House parties are fun, right? Anthony’s been telling me about one in America where he had to escape the Muggle police.”

“Sounds great,” said Harry. “Hey, so I thought I was wrong about Malfoy, but - ”

“Oh no, Harry, that’s too bad. I thought for sure when he apologised to me – “ She covered her mouth. “Whoops. Oh no. I wasn’t meant to say that.”

“He apologised to you? What? When?”

“The first day. He came to my room and told me he was sorry. But he also told me not to tell you and he told me I was attractive if I promised not to say anything.”

“You are always attractive, Hermione,” said Anthony, grinning at her. “Even when you’re spilling secrets.”

“Even then?”

“Especially then,” he said. Hermione laughed, and then tore herself away to look back at Harry.

“Are you all right? You’re not going to – “

“I’m fine,” he said. “Honestly, I’m fine. I’m just going to – check on Dean,” he finished lamely, as Hermione was ignoring him now in favour of Anthony’s mouth.

He really, really hated house parties.

The next morning he woke up hungover and furious and half-hard and thought _fuck this._

No really. Fuck this.

He showered quickly, wanking off fast and gritting his teeth and not particularly enjoying it. He threw on some clothes and was halfway down the stairs to Hermione’s flat when he realised he didn’t know what room Malfoy was in.

Whatever. He would bang on every door until he found him. He was on a righteous quest for his god-given, well-owed apology.

Luckily, he didn’t need to. Malfoy was in the kitchen.

“So where’s my apology?” he began.

Malfoy jumped a little, and then reached up to rub his temples. “Potter. It is arse o clock in the morning, and you’re shouting nonsense at me. What apology? For copping off with a bloke? Sod off forever.”

“No. My apology. Hermione got one, why didn’t I?”

“Hermione – “ Malfoy snarled. “That lying sneak.”

“She was drunk. And what’s all this about you telling her she was attractive?”

“She bloody asked me if she was!”

“And you said yes?”

“Should I have said she was ugly?”

“My apology, Malfoy! Why didn’t – “

“I fucking tried, didn’t I!” yelled Malfoy. He was gripping his water glass so hard it looked like it might shatter. “I went to find you first, actually, and what did I get? You took one look at me and told me to fuck off. So sorry if I didn’t fancy round two of that. Pity that I’m getting it anyway. And I don’t apologise to homophobes, not for my existence, not for _anything._ So this time, _you_ can be the one to get out.”

“I’m not a homophobe.”

“Sure looks like it.”

“I wasn’t mad that you were copping off with a bloke. I was mad because I thought that was the reason you split with your parents. I’d begun to think well of you, you know that? I got all excited, thinking you might have actually changed, and then you told me you hadn’t, it was just your sexuality.” He took a deep breath. “And then _Blaise_ told me that I’d got it right the first time. So I want to know. Why did you lie, when I asked you last night?”

“I thought you wanted your apology. Pick one.”

“Why did you lie?”

“I was half-cut, who fucking knows?”

“ _Malfoy.”_

“Because I didn’t care!” Malfoy threw the remains of his water into the sink with a vicious flick. “You are _always_ going to be in some back corner of my life, snarling at me and telling me that I’m not good enough and never will be. But you know what? I’ve realised something now. I don’t give a fuck about your opinion of me, never have. You come in here, talking about how you felt so, so sad when you thought I hadn’t changed. News flash, Chosen One – I didn’t change for you. Some things aren’t about you. If you want to walk around being disappointed in me, then enjoy it. I’m done.”

“And the apology?”

“Would it have made a difference, Potter? You’ve already decided what to think of me. You’ve had eight years of choosing what to think of me. I was eleven years old the first time you decided I was scum, I hadn’t even done anything yet. You didn’t even know me. I was being nice. What is the point of grovelling, Potter? What is the point of humiliating myself even further? You’re never going to change your opinion.”

He was panting a bit, and his normally pale skin was flushed around the edges. His strange eyes were wild and mad.

“That opinion you don’t give a fuck about, right?” Harry said, low and quiet.

Malfoy laughed. “Yeah. That would be the one.”

“Why would it be humiliating? Was it humiliating with Hermione?”

“Yes, actually. But it would be worse with you.” He stopped, biting his lip as though he wanted to chew it off so it couldn’t reveal any more.

“Why worse with me?”

Malfoy looked at the ground. “Because I never had to beat Granger. I always had to beat you. And I lost.”

“Lost the war?”

He laughed. “You think this is just about the war? Sure, let’s go with that.”

Harry leant against the wall and considered it. Malfoy was still not looking at him. Maybe he knew about his eyes and how they gave him away. His arms were held stiffly out from his body, his breath fast. He looked like he was bracing for a punch.

“What if it wasn’t humiliating?” said Harry. “What if I apologised first?”

“What?”

“I’ve got some stuff to apologise for as well, I reckon.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Go on, then. I suppose it can’t hurt.”

“Right,” said Harry. God, seven years of rivalry with Draco Malfoy, and he needed to comb through them all and pick out every little thing that really, truly was his fault. He supposed he should start with the obvious. “I’m sorry about sectum – “

“Don’t.”

Harry blinked. “I thought you said – “

“Don’t say the word. Please. Sorry. I still have – I just don’t think I could hear it. Coming from you.”

Harry’s heart hurt. He didn’t want it to, didn’t want to bleed any more emotions over Draco Malfoy, but he couldn’t not imagine it. Malfoy waking up from nightmares, Harry’s voice coming back to him in the night.

“I’m sorry about the bathroom in sixth year,” he said. “I didn’t know what the spell would do, it’s true – but I knew it wouldn’t be very nice. I didn’t want you to die. I never did. I’m sorry I followed you in there in the first place. I just assumed you were up to something – I guess you were, overall. But not then. You were just trying to talk to someone, anyone, and I ruined that for you.”

Draco was still not looking at him, but he was looking nearer him, and that was a start. “Go on.”

Harry closed his eyes. “All right. I’m sorry about first year, when I didn’t take your hand. Yeah, you were rude, but that must have been embarrassing. I’m sorry about the time I helped Fred and George set up a fire-work to follow you around the on your broom during Quidditch practise.”

“I knew that was you,” said Malfoy.

Harry smiled. “I’m sorry about all the times I was blatantly Dumbledore’s favourite. I know that must have pissed you off, trying so hard to win the house cup. God, it seems like forever ago that that actually mattered, right? I’m sorry about that time in the Forbidden Forest, in first year. I’m not sure _what_ I’m sorry for there, but you were eleven and scared and I don’t think I was very nice. I’m sorry about that time me and Ron polyjuiced into Crabbe and Goyle – “

“You did _what?”_

“Ok, I kind of forgot you didn’t know about that one. I’m sorry – “

“Wait, wait. Go back. When was this?”

“It was second year. Hermione made the potion.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Yes, Potter. I could figure that out myself. Why on earth did you do that?”

“We thought you were the heir of Slytherin. Sorry about that too, I guess.”

“Eh,” said Malfoy, shrugging. “It turned out to be my father, in the end. So pretty much the same thing.”

“It’s not,” said Harry. “I know it’s not. I’m sorry you felt like that. And I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel so humiliated. I’m sorry that I’ve sometimes enjoyed you feeling like that, over the years. It’s not something I’m proud of, I promise you. And – And I’m really sorry about Crabbe. Vincent. He didn’t deserve that.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” said Malfoy softly.

“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry anyway.”

There was silence for a long time. Harry watched Malfoy carefully. Watched him bring his arms in to wrap around himself and shudder, just for a second. His eyes were so lonely. Then he drew himself upright and smirked at Harry.

“And…?”

“And what?”

Malfoy’s smirk got wider. “Buckbeak.”

Harry thudded his head against the wall. “No. No fucking way. Absolutely not.”

“Yes. Yes fucking way. I got mauled, Potter. And no one did anything to avenge my pain. I still have a scar on my arm – “

“Fine. Fine! Jesus. Ok, I’m sorry that I saved Buckbeak from death after he “mauled” you. He was a very dangerous creature and I’m sure he deserved to be immediately executed for your little owie. Apology done now?”

“Yes, I should think so,” said Malfoy. “Well, this has been fun, Potter. I forgive you your sins. I really do have to run now – “

He was nearly out of the door when Harry blocked his way with his arm. “No. No you don’t. I’m too hungover to play silly buggers.”

“But that’s my favourite game,” said Malfoy, almost a whisper. They were very close together, Malfoy’s head practically in Harry’s shoulder. He hadn’t realised the slight height he had on Malfoy, or the muscle build. Their thighs were almost touching. When had they last been this close? The Room of Requirements, Malfoy’s thighs squeezing his. Right now, it felt like their breaths were intermingling.

This close to someone, you couldn’t lie. Near-touch demanded honesty.

Malfoy swallowed.

“All right, Potter.” He was whispering now, and Harry bent his head to hear. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for the way I spoke about Weasley and Granger, and I’m really sorry if anything I’ve said has continued to cause pain over their lives. I’m sorry about the way I mocked your fear of dementors in third year. I’m well aware now of exactly how terrifying they are. I’m sorry about Potter Stinks – actually, I’m not, that one’s hilarious.” He was gathering steam now. “I’m sorry about siding with Umbridge. I’m so, so sorry that my actions that night may have contributed to your godfather’s death. From everything I know about him now, he sounds like a wonderful man. I could apologise till I’m blue in the face for sixth year, and it would never make it right. I’m sorry I tried to kill you in the Battle. I’m sorry I didn’t fight on the right side, even when I knew it was wrong. I’d known it was wrong for a long time. And most of all, I’m sorry I ever let it get to this. We had a normal schoolboy rivalry and I let it twist me to do terrible things. So let me finish with something that isn’t an apology. Thank you. Thank you for saving my life. You gave me the chance to build a better one.”

They were so, so close now. Malfoy’s eyes were the only thing he could see.

“Did you rehearse that?” whispered Harry.

“A little,” said Malfoy. “Last time with Hermione didn’t go so well. Potter – Harry, I – “

A door opened somewhere in the apartment, and they jumped apart, guilty and twitchy and, in Harry’s case, confusingly half-hard. He thought vigorously of Filch and Umbridge making out, and prayed Malfoy didn’t look down. Theodore Nott came down the corridor, whistling aimlessly. He stopped when he saw the two of them, lurking guiltily in the kitchen doorway.

“Morning, boys,” he said. His voice was surprisingly deep. “Everything all right?”

“It’s fine, Theo,” said Malfoy. “Potter and I were just clearing the air. Carry on.”

Theo still looked suspicious, but he gave them a nod and went on his way. Harry waited until he was out of earshot before looking back at Malfoy.

“I forgot to ask – how’s Pansy? I haven’t gotten round to – “

“She’s fine,” said Malfoy. “Apparently she recently did something semi-heroic, and Weasley is championing her to all and sundry. Thanks for thinking of it, though.”

“Yeah. Well, I should – go and drink a hangover potion. Or two.”

“And brush your teeth, your breath is atrocious,” said Malfoy, before blushing. “I should also go and lie down in a darkened room and avoid loud noises.”

“Sounds good,” said Harry. “I’ll just – “

He was halfway down the corridor before he remembered and turned. “Malfoy.”

“What? Potter, don’t tell me I missed something out.”

“No, I did. I should have said thank you. I am saying thank you. You saved my life too, back in the Manor. So, yeah. Thanks.”

Malfoy opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Don’t mention it.”

“So we’re good, yeah?”

Malfoy just nodded. Harry smiled and wandered off. He had a date with his bed he was late for.

“You should invite Malfoy,” said Harry, when on Thursday Blaise began making noises about getting the weekend off to an early start.

Blaise turned and sputtered at him. Terry looked like he was choking on his coffee and Morag, the cow, was laughing at him. “I’m sorry. What?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably on the hard kitchen chairs. “I mean, you’re inviting everyone from both flats. It’s a bit rude to leave him out.”

“Rude,” said Blaise. “Yes, a bit rude. How terrible of me. Of course I’ll invite Malfoy.”

“And Nott,” said Harry, deciding that his charitable feelings extended beyond one person.

“Won’t come,” said Blaise. “He loathes everyone.”

“What have we done to him?” said Susan.

“Everyone as in all of humanity,” said Blaise. “But yes. I’ll go and. Ask them then.”

He fled upstairs, looking ruffled (ruffled for him just meant that his walk was 10% less smooth, of course). Morag raised her eyebrows.

“What?” said Harry. “It’s a big group. I probably won’t even talk to him.”

“Uh huh,” said Morag.

They ended back up at the London Stone, because Dean insisted it was hilarious. They caught the Muggle bus over there, because Hermione said it wasn’t appropriate to apparate into a Muggle area when some of them didn’t have the best grip on landing where they were supposed to, _Harry._ Nott did come, which slightly freaked Harry out, thinking about what he might have seen last Sunday morning. Not that there had been anything to see, because nothing had happened.

It had been adrenaline. Adrenaline and possibilities that had caused his odd – reaction. That was all.

He resolved not to think too hard about Malfoy all night. There were fourteen of them, he wouldn’t need to interact with the git. He was just helping along his rehabilitation, that was all. And if Blaise and Nott were invited, it would have been rude not to invite him too. Unfortunately, he seemed to be in the corner of his vision every time he turned around, chatting to Morag or whispering to Nott or scowling at one of Blaise’s jokes. Even the barman looked a little bit like him – a short version of him, who clearly thought he was too good to serve anyone drinks. Harry commented as much to Hermione.

“He most certainly does _not,_ Potter,” hissed Malfoy, who had apparently been standing right beside him. He knew the bartender of course – he had gotten a job here, and it was apparent from their short and sulky conversation that the two of them did not like each other.

It was a fine night, the very last traces of September warmth making it just possible for them all to sit outside. Blaise was complaining at length at the indignities of having to go to lectures –

“That’s rather the point of university, Blaise,” said Hermione.

“If you think learning is the point of the next few years, you’re not doing them right,” said Blaise.

\- and Hannah Abbot was doing a wonderful job of distracting Seamus from glaring daggers at the Slytherins, but especially Blaise. He was, Harry noticed, not sitting next to Dean, and Dean was carefully not looking at him.

He asked Dean about it when they went up to the bar for their next round – Susan was insisting that everyone paid for at least one, which meant that they were going to end the night barely upright – and Dean leant against the bar, downing the last of his pint.

“I still haven’t come out to him. I just don’t have the words to do it, you know? We haven’t really spoken about the things he said at the party. We each said we were drunk and apologised for being bitchy, but I think we both know it’s a topic we don’t really want to touch. Every time I try and bring it up, he just starts talking about something else. I get the impression he does know, and he doesn’t want me to say. Like he thinks he can convince me to stay in the closet for the rest of our lives so he won’t have to deal. The worst thing is that I think – I think I might actually do it, if it was for him.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know. If you had a secret from Ron, one that would mean he would never talk to you again – would you tell him?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. Ron currently felt a bit distant from him. They’d kept on floo-calling regularly, but it was difficult now their worlds were so different. And Ron kept talking about Pansy – apparently the _semi-heroic_ thing she’d done was jump out of a third-floor window to catch a perp, and he now thought she was brilliant. He supposed it was nice that Pansy appeared to be making up for her actions, but most of Ron’s stories seemed to revolve around her being a menace to society.

But apart from that, the night was pleasant, until Susan – who had been put in charge of the rounds system – pointed at Draco and said “All right, Malfoy. It’s your turn.” Harry suddenly remembered that Malfoy was working in a Muggle pub, and had been cut off by his parents, and probably couldn’t afford drinks for fourteen people, and this whole thing was going to end in a humiliating mess.

Except Malfoy apparently preferred to bankrupt himself rather than admit defeat, because he just lifted his chin and started taking orders, and then announced that a round of shots for everyone seemed to be quite within the spirit of the night to general cheers and Hermione’s protests. He headed off to the bar, his face grim, and Harry couldn’t help himself. Bloody saviour complex.

“I’ll help you carry them,” he half-shouted, jumping up and nearly knocking down Morag in the process. Malfoy looked a bit shocked, and he pasted something on his face that he hoped looked like a congenial smile rather than a grimace of impending doom.

Malfoy’s brow creased, but he just shrugged and let Harry follow him into the bar. The silence between them was harder than Hagrid’s rock cake.

“Ok,” said Harry, after Malfoy had rattled off the orders. “I know what I’m about to say is going to make you hate me. Hate me even more. But let me get this round.”

“Absolutely bloody not.”

“Why?”

“Because then everyone will know that I can’t afford it.”

“So what?” said Harry. “They all know you’ve been cut off. It makes them like you more, if anything.” From Malfoy’s grimace, that had not been the correct tack to choose. “And I won’t tell them,” he said quickly. “Honest. I’ll say I just helped you carry them out.”

“Make them like me more,” said Malfoy. “Do you know why I suggested that round of shots? Because I am well aware that I’m currently having to buy friendship. It’s just like second year all over again.”

“You don’t have to buy friendship. No one’s been a prick to you tonight, have they? Anyway, in case you missed it – I won’t tell them.”

“Why wouldn’t you? If I was in your position – “ He cut off, stricken.

“If you were in my position?”

“I’d be enjoying this. I’d love getting to see me humiliated.”

“Not being flush isn’t a reason to be ashamed, Malfoy.”

“It is when it’s the only thing you ever had to make people like you.”

“That’s not why people liked you,” said Harry. “Blaise still likes you now, doesn’t he? And Theo. And Pansy is still your friend, presumably.”

“Blaise has no taste, Theo tolerates me only through prolonged exposure, and I have dirt on Pansy. Everyone else in Slytherin liked me because my father was powerful. Now I’m – I’m nothing.” He sighed. “But if you’re serious – thank you, Potter. I insist on getting the round of shots though. That was my stupid idea.”

“I’ve never actually had a shot before.”

“What, not even in dorm parties?”

“We didn’t really have those,” said Harry. “Anytime any of us suggested breaking the rules, Neville got all twitchy.”

“Poor Neville, living in a dorm with you. Did you really petrify him in first year?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, grimacing. “He was really apologetic, second year. Kept thinking about how if he’d succeeded, Voldemort would have come back. I think that’s when I really started liking him, though. He knew he was a shit wizard, but he still tried anyway.”

“An inspiration to us all,” said Malfoy. “Oi, barkeep, where’s my staff discount on this round?”

“He doesn’t work here,” said the man. “No discount.”

“Oh for the love of – “

“It’s fine,” said Harry, grabbing Malfoy’s shoulder. “Cheers, mate. Ring up the shots on a separate tab, yeah? With the staff discount. He’s paying for that.”

The man curled his lip at Harry in a way that suggested he hoped the pub would go up in flames. Malfoy was biting his lip and suppressing his laughter.

“How is working here?” said Harry, as they carried the drinks outside.

“Awful. Have you heard of something called _cocaine?_ All the Muggles here are on it. It makes them near unbearable. Somebody offered it to me in the loo when I went to clear them out at the end of the night.”

“Did you take it?”

“Did I take a strange powder a muggle offered me in a grimy bathroom? No, Potter. Do you know how they take this horrible stuff? They roll up a bank-note and inhale it into their nose, and then they pass the bank-note on for someone else to shove up their nose. I thought I was going to be sick.”

“You should call me Harry, you know.”

“What?”

“I mean – new era, and all that. It probably won’t kill you.”

“Hmm,” said Malfoy. He was looking at Harry side-ways, like he didn’t quite trust that he was real. “I’m not sure the risks are worth the reward. I will _consider_ it. And you may call me Draco, if you say wish, as long as you don’t abuse the privilege.”

“I’m glad one of you has a normal name,” said the barkeep, coming over with their change. Draco gave him a look of poorly concealed-contempt.

“He really does look like you,” Harry whispered in his ear.

“Oh fuck off forever, Harry.”

The shots leant the evening an edge of unreality, and the rounds system broke down as soon as Susan got too pissed to keep track properly. A DJ started blasting top hits from a decade ago, which meant Blaise screamed “this is my _jaaaaaaaam,”_ at the beginning of every song. Harry ended up sharing a joint with Dean, Seamus, Morag and Parvati outside, once Draco confirmed the staff wouldn’t give a fuck.

“You might have to share with them!” he yelled over the music, while he was shimmying with Hannah.

“Do you want some?” said Harry, and Draco sniffed and shook his head.

It was nice outside, _I’m Too Sexy_ playing muffled from within, with Dean and Seamus doing a lip-synced routine. The alcohol had apparently curtailed the awkwardness between them, and now they were the same as ever.

“I hadn’t smoked before last week,” said Harry. “This is nice. This is the best way to smoke.”

“We’ve got to give Potter all his awkward first weed experiences,” said Morag. She was smiling in a way that promised terrifying things.

“White-outs,” said Parvati.

“Blowback,” snickered Morag. “I blame you for that one, Parvati. After you introduced it to Padma, everyone in Ravenclaw turned into proper pot-heads in sixth year just for an excuse to nearly make out.”

“What’s blowback?” said Harry, and Morag, grinned, took a huge drag, and turned to Parvati. Parvati closed her eyes and the two of them leaned in together, mouths almost touching, Morag’s fingers skimming along Parvati’s cheek as she blew a cloud of smoke into her mouth.

Harry’s mouth felt a bit dry.

Parvati took a hit, turned to her left and beckoned Seamus over, doing the same to him. And then Seamus took a hit, and turned to Dean, pulling him closer by the collar. Dean’s eyes were wide, his mouth falling slack. Seamus kept his eyes open, staring straight at Dean, as he pushed his mouth closer. The smoke curled between them, gentle. And then Dean took a hit and, instead of turning towards Harry, pulled Seamus in with one hand on the small of his back. Seamus’s eyes were closed this time.

“This is going to end in tears,” muttered Morag, and Harry grabbed the joint out of Dean’s hand and took a toke like a normal person, thank you very much.

He ended up wandering home early, his head spinning from the dancing and the booze until it all got a bit much. Hermione gave him a half-hug and told him to be careful – her other arm was wrapped around Parvati’s waist – and he nodded blithely and stumbled off. It was a nice night, soft and clear, with a the moon a little over halfway out – _gibbous,_ said the Hermione-voice in his head – and little traffic along the roads.

Halfway there, he heard the sound of singing.

As he wondered closer to it, it turned into the sound of vomiting.

“Nott, if _any_ of that has ended up on my trousers – “ said an unforgettable voice, and then Harry rounded the corner and found Draco holding Theo Nott up by the armpits as he vomited into a bush.

“Hey,” said Harry. “Need a bit of help?”

Draco almost – _almost_ – smiled. “Please. He can barely stand up. I’m not sure I can bear to drag him the rest of the way, but Pansy would murder me if I left him to die in a bush.”

“Pansy’s nice,” said Theo mildly. “I think she’s gone a bit mad though.”

“Haven’t we all,” said Draco, rubbing his back. Harry grimly crouched down and put Nott’s left arm around his shoulders, and then the three of them set off towards the grounds in a silence that was stiffly awkward.

Well, awkward to Harry and Draco. Nott was still burbling along under his breath.

“Did you see Blaise do the splits?” said Harry, trying to land on a safe topic, and luckily Draco laughed.

“Yes. He always pulls them out at parties. Don’t tell anyone, but he spent most of third year practising them in secret in the boys bathrooms.”

“Absolutely nothing surprises me about that man.”

“Oh, he’s a horror. He’s – “ Draco’s face went soft, and Harry suddenly flashed back to Blaise saying _sucked me off the summer before sixth year_ and his mind went blank.

“Right,” he said, in a very small voice, and Draco flashed him an odd look and went back to the previous silence.

“You all right, Nott?” said Harry, in an effort to clear the air.

“I hate you,” said Nott.

“Good choice,” said Draco.

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” said Harry.

“Fuck off _Draco,_ you mean. First name basis now, Potter.”

“Oh god,” said Theo. “Are you two bonding? Please do not bond. I absolutely forbid it.”

“We’re not bonding,” said Draco, though Harry was privately pretty sure they were.

They made it to their dorm to discover the prone form of Michael Corner slumped outside the door, keycard held limply in his right hand.

“We should probably check he’s still breathing,” said Harry.

“If he’s dead, we don’t have to carry him up to his room,” said Draco, which was a fair point.

“I might throw up on him,” said Nott.

Michael was, unfortunately for them, breathing, so Harry released Nott once they’d gotten the door opened and dragged Michael up instead.

“You got this?” he said, jerking his chin at Nott.

“I got this,” said Draco. “Good luck with Corner. Don’t let him read you his poetry. Oh, and thank you for the help, I suppose.”

“That’s four thank-yous between us this week, Malf- Draco.”

“You _are_ bonding,” said Nott, disgusted.

Draco patted his hair. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll bond with someone horrible too. Maybe Abbot. All right, Potter. See you in the morning.”

He shot Harry a two-fingered salute, which was _possibly_ friendly, and turned without another word. In Harry’s shoulder, Michael began to stir.

“Mione…?”

“Nope!” said Harry cheerfully, and resolved not to think about _that._

The problem with going to the London Stone, thought Harry, was that once everyone had heard it was a shithole, everyone wanted to go there. Including, somehow, the Slytherins. All the Slytherins, not just their university crowd. When Harry turned up on Sunday with Dean and Seamus, there was Draco and Blaise and Theo, of course, but also bloody Parkinson (ugh) and Gregory Goyle, and a blonde girl that Harry would have guessed was Daphne Greengrass, and -

“Ron?”

Ron turned towards them, his face lighting up as he reeled Harry in and pulled him into a bear hug, like everything was normal and Ron wasn’t drinking with the Slytherins.

“What,” said Seamus.

“Harry! Dean! Seamus!” said Blaise. “So good to see you, my fellow studious…studious…students! Do come and join us. Sit down, sit down.”

“It’s so good to see you guys,” said Ron, slapping Seamus on the shoulder and grinning up at Dean. “These tossers have been listing Gryffindor faults for the last hour. I reckon it’s time to turn the tables.”

“It’s no fun when you fight back,” said Daphne, pouting.

“Told you,” said Parkinson. “Lions have claws, you know.” She looked suspiciously like she was smiling into her drink.

Harry looked at Dean and Seamus, but only Seamus returned his “please-help-me” look. Dean was happily sliding into the seat next to Blaise, with Seamus taking the place on his other side. Harry took the empty seat in between Draco and Ron. Now that he looked, he saw that the majority of Slytherins had been crowded around one side of the table, with Ron on the other side almost like a job interview.

“So,” said Daphne, leaning forward and flashing far more cleavage than Harry needed to see. “You uni students are meant to be great at drinking games. How about we restart the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, boys?”

“Never Have I Ever,” said Blaise, and everyone groaned. “What? It’s a classic for a reason.”

“Never have I ever turned my hair green in the middle of a raid,” said Ron.

Pansy drank. “Fuck you, Ronald. We’re not playing this.”

“Too scared of the dirt I have on you?” Ron grinned. “Don’t worry. I can pick on Harry as well.”

“Never have I ever had nightmares about spiders forcing me to tap dance,” said Harry.

“Good shout, Pansy, this game’s rubbish,” said Ron. “Truth or dare?”

“Can’t we just have a conversation like normal people?” said Draco. His eyes slid over to Harry, and somehow that warmed him inside, the two of them despairing over their friends like this.

“Probably not without bloodshed,” said Harry.

“I’ll go first,” said Blaise. “Potter, Truth or Dare?”

“Uh, truth,” said Harry, because he fancied he knew Blaise quite well by now, and he didn’t feel like getting arrested this evening.

“Why did you break up with poor old Ronald’s sister here?”

“Steady on, Blaise,” said Daphne, placing a hand on his arm.

Harry laughed. “There’s no juicy gossip on that one. She’s gay.”

“Oh,” said Blaise, grinning like a shark. “Both of you?”

That got him spluttering. “I’m – I’m not – “

“Oh for crying out loud, Blaise,” drawled Draco. “You wouldn’t be trying to suggest that our saviour would be anything other than straight as a ruler?”

Harry shot him a look, considering whether to be annoyed – he’d thought he and Malfoy were over all that stuff. But there was less of an edge around Draco’s tone, and he was almost smiling. He didn’t sound like he was trying to put him down, more just suggest a general atmosphere of boredom and disdain. It was a surprisingly good look on him, actually. With his lean face and general air of dissatisfaction, he looked rather like he’d just dropped out of an Oscar Wilde novel, or the first half of Brideshead Revisited – and then Harry realised that that line of thought was actually pretty gay, and stared straight down at his pint instead.

“Yeah,” he muttered into the comforting depths of his Camden Pale. “Yeah, I’m, uh, straight.”

Blaise snorted. “And with such a heartfelt and assured declaration, how could we doubt? All right, Potter, it’s your turn. Pick your victim.”

Well. Nothing like turning the tables on the snakey tossers – uh, the respectable Slytherins. “All right, Pansy. Truth or Dare?”

Next to him, Ron stiffened. Pansy raised her chin defiantly. “Truth.”

She was, he realised, expecting him to ask about the whole giving-him-over-to-Voldemort thing. Even worse, he realised that he had actually been about to ask her that, and had been apparently perfectly prepared to ruin the whole evening just to watch Pansy squirm. “Why did you decide to be an Auror?” he said, instead. That seemed safe.

Except it wasn’t, because nothing was safe with these Slytherins, so Pansy smiled a vicious smile and said “What, Potter, surprised that they let the likes of me in?”

Harry was about to bristle and defend himself, when next to him Ron heaved a long-suffering sigh.

“Give it a rest, Parkinson. It was a polite question, and Harry’s not used to you. Maybe go easy, yeah?”

Pansy rolled her eyes, but the look she shot Ron was almost fond. On Harry’s other side, Draco was looking between the two of them, something between interest and concern wrinkling his brow.

“All right,” said Pansy. “I wish I could say that I truly, dearly cared about the poor little victims I’ll be helping to avenge, but the truth is that after seventh year it looked like my plan of marrying rich and living in luxury for the rest of my life was out the window, and the Aurors seemed like a good place to channel my penchant for violence. Is that enough for you, Potter?”

Harry nodded, hoping to keep attention off him, and thankfully it turned away. Pansy dared Daphne to lick the table, which after much gagging and mocking she finally did, and Dean laughingly confessed to having released all the animals he caught in traps during his year on the run because he felt bad for them, and a red-faced Theo had admitted to being the actual mastermind behind the slogan “Potter Stinks” – “because Draco was going on and on about finding the perfect thing that would emotionally crucify you, and I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Awww,” said Harry, pushing a blushing Draco in his chair. “I can’t believe you put that much thought into it, and the best all of you could come up with was ‘Potter Stinks’.”

“Out of interest, what should I have gone for?” said Theo. “Just in case, you know?”

“Just in case I have to fight a dragon again and you lot need to cheer on a Hufflepuff?”

“Good grief,” muttered Blaise. “I’d rather blocked that aspect of it out.” He caught Harry’s black look, and sighed. “Sorry, Potter. Diggory was a good man, and had a hell of an ass. Pour one out, lads.” He dribbled his drink over the table, and after a moment of sighing, the others did the same – all except Daphne, who clutched her Bellini with renewed vigour.

“Greengrass – “

She sniffed. “Cedric wouldn’t want me pouring peach puree over a surface in his memory. We must honour his wishes.”

They were all right, the Slytherins, Harry realised. Odd, sure, and compulsively mean to each other, but there was a certain softness underneath the meanness that shone through. Maybe if they’d been born a generation earlier, or a generation later, they’d all have gotten on at school. Or maybe adulthood had just blunted the sharp edges of their personalities, made it possible for Ron to be calm and Blaise to be bearable and Draco to be – well, Draco was still pretty similar, actually, but he wasn’t a terrorist anymore.

“Right,” said Theo. “Blaise, it’s your turn to be humiliated.”

Blaise gave a devilish grin. “My dear, you know me far too well to think that could ever happen. I pick – “

“Dare,” chorused all the Slytherins in time.

Theo snorted. “All right. Blaise, I dare you to snog the most attractive person at this table.”

“Why,” said Draco. “Theo, do you hate us?”

“Yes,” said Theo.

Blaise grinned. “The most attractive person. What a Gordian knot you have put me in – pun not intended. All of my friends are just so beautiful.” He stood up, and began to move slowly round the table. “There’s you, of course – yes, you’re a stringy bean, but you’ve got wonderful cheekbones and those slate grey eyes, that ash-blonde hair – damn. Draco, who might even come in as the next hottest Slytherin. After me. Greg – well. You’ve got nice shoulders.”

“Cheers,” said Greg, halfway through a burp.

“And then there’s our glorious saviour,” said Blaise, and Harry shrank into his chair. He really, really didn’t want to be snogged by Blaise Zabini. For one thing, Ron, and for another thing, Draco. “So dashing, so handsome. Who wouldn’t want to swoon in his arms? And Weasley, of course – another hero, and with the biceps to match. Pans – “

“Don’t,” she said.

“Fair enough. Seamus, you really do have the most lovely colouring. But I think there’s only one person here who really combined grace, class and a fabulous ass.” He stopped. “Dean, would you do me the honour of making me the happiest man in this pub?”

Dean laughed and mock swooned. “Blaise, yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”

And then he pulled Blaise down into a huge, noisy snog.

Pansy and Greengrass whooped and cheered. Theo groaned and put his head in his hands. Fuck it, Harry thought, and joined in on the cheering. 

Dean pulled away with a wet pop and raised his arms like a champion. “To the prettiest girl at the Royal College!” he crowed, and everyone raised their glasses in a salute.

Except for Seamus, who pushed his chair back with a deafening screech.

“Dean, could I have a word with you outside?”

Dean’s face was shutting down. His expression went from triumphant to carefully neutral. “Sure,” he said, and pushed himself up, the two of them making their way out the back to the beer garden.

Blaise looked half-guilty. “Didn’t mean to cause trouble in paradise.”

“Well,” said Daphne. “I’m not sure any dare can beat the drama of that. Shall we play Kings?”

Blaise went to get an empty pint glass while Daphne produced a pack of cards and spread them out in a circle, explaining the extraordinarily complex rules of the game. Harry tuned out and turned his head to look through the glass doors leading to the garden. He could only see Dean from this angle, but he looked furious.

“Seamus seems in a bit of a grump, doesn’t he?” Harry turned. He hadn’t realised that Draco was watching them too.

“It’s fine,” said Harry. Draco pursed his lips.

“I suppose that Seamus can’t be thrilled about the new developments in Dean's social life.”

“Sure,” said Harry. “Blame Seamus. It’s not like he’s just following through on what his parents taught him or anything.” He didn’t know why he was defending Seamus – he was certainly acting like a tosser. It just felt wrong, somehow, to sit here and bitch about him with Malfoy.

But Draco was just shrugging his words off. “I’m not talking about the homophobia, though I’m sure there’s a fair bit of that mixed in. I just mean that they were pretty symbiotic, weren’t they? And now with everything changing, I can see why Seamus might be feeling pretty insecure.” He sipped his pint. “We’ve all been through a lot, and most of it was only a year ago. None of us are going to be our best selves right now.”

“You think Seamus is traumatised?”

Draco laughed, low and rueful. “I think all of us, with the exception of Blaise who was always a supernaturally lucky sod, are pretty traumatised. Maybe not Hermione. She doesn’t seem like the type who’d have time for flashbacks.” He pointed at Ron’s arms. “Can I ask how Weasley got those scars?”

“There was a vat of brains in the Ministry with tentacles, and – “ He was cut off by the noise of Seamus entering the pub with a bang, and then storming out of the front doors. He sighed. “Fuck. Sorry. I should – “

“Go,” said Draco. “I want to get in some proper Weasley torture time.” But he was grinning while he said it, so it was all right.

Harry found Dean outside, sitting at a table and rubbing his head.

“You all-right?”

Dean sighed. “I think I’m going to head. You stay here, Harry.”

“I’m all right,” said Harry, thinking of Draco’s smile and his looks. “I think they’re all checking that Ron’s a good enough partner for Pansy. Let me just go say bye.”

He popped in, hugged Ron and gave him a whispered explanation, getting a thumbs up in return. He waved at the Slytherin’s, breezily ignoring their wails to stay and Draco’s knowing look. When he came outside, Dean was rubbing his thumb across the chalk of the specials board.

“I’m not drunk,” said Dean. “Fuck. I wish I was drunk.”

Harry took his arm. “We can go home via a pub. Or an offy.”

“Offy sounds good.”

“All right.”

They bought a bottle of vodka and a bottle of coke, mixing them in the bottle and sharing it in long swigs. Harry bought a packet of cigarettes too – he’d quite liked smoking while drunk, which seemed a little dangerous, but they felt thematically appropriate. The walk home was about an hour, but it took them through some of the prettiest parts of Windsor Great Park, and it gave Dean time to get a proper buzz.

“I told him I was bi, you know. You probably guessed. And he said _“Are you sure?”_ Like, no, Seamus, I’ve spent the last six years constantly worrying about my parent’s reactions and putting up with their shit when I did come out just on a whim.”

“Your parents weren’t good with it?”

Dean shrugged and hopped up onto the trunk of a fallen tree along the path. “Define _good._ Like, you know – my mum said something about how if this was the path that I’d chosen, they’d support me. They always talk about my future as if I’m definitely going to end up with a girl. Or, actually – my mum will be talking about her kid’s weddings, and she’ll say something like “It’ll be so nice to meet your future wife, Dean. Or – or your _partner.”_ The word you are looking for is _husband,_ mum. My siblings all crack jokes about it. Just stupid, sexual shit, there’s nothing really meant by it, but it’s all about gay sex, you know? Like, we’ll be eating hot-dogs and one of them will go _oh, this is Dean’s favourite meal, we all know how much he likes sausage._ No one makes jokes about me eating stuff that looks like pussy. Does any food look like pussy?”

“An orange cut in half. A little bit.”

“Yeah! I could be full out going down on an orange in the kitchen – “ They both burst into giggles, and Harry caught Dean before he slipped.

“Just really getting your tongue in there. Don’t forget that seed in the middle, I hear it’s the most sensitive part.”

That one sent Dean off the log, and they were laughing and stumbling across the path, shouting fruit based innuendos at each other.

“I guess it’s hard enough for me with my dad, knowing that I’m not his biologically. Now there’s one more way I’m different from the rest of my family,” Dean said fifteen minutes later, arm in arm with Harry.

“Did you always know he wasn’t your dad?”

“My siblings are white. Kind of hard to miss. When I was little, I thought I might be adopted, but mum was pretty clear with me. So yeah, I’m the black, queer kid in a white straight family.”

“I know about that,” said Harry. “Being the only non-white kid in the family, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

“My aunt and uncle.” He took the bottle, drank deeply. “For a while when I was little, I thought that was why they hated me. Then at eleven I found out about the magic and it was almost a relief, you know? Like – ok, it wasn’t about race, it was always about magic. Then I got older and realised it was about both.”

“They sound like shits,” said Dean.

“They were shits,” said Harry. “Shitty, shitty shits.” He drank again. “And they didn’t even get what they deserved. The war ended, everyone got what they deserved, except for the people who tortured me the hardest and for the longest. You know why they didn’t die? Because I protected them. Because I found them a safe place and told them to stay away. What did I get for that? Fuck all. I don’t think they even know that I survived. They certainly haven’t asked.”

“Fuck them,” said Dean, grabbing Harry’s shoulders. “Fuck them, Harry. Fuck everyone who said we shouldn’t be here. We are alive. That means we win. We’ve won, and they’ve lost, and they’ll be shitty and bitter about it for the rest of their lives. Those people, your family – “

“The Dursley’s.”

“Stupid name. They will live terrible, boring lives. And we will be glorious, and brilliant and great.” He grabbed the bottle, drank from it and lifted it to Harry. “A toast to us. Bisexual and biracial and undesirable and alive.”

Harry grabbed the bottle, drank, raised his fists to the sky. “Bisexual and biracial and undesirable and alive!”

Dean whooped. “You didn’t have to say the bisexual bit, Harry.”

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “I might – whoops, there’s a branch – I might have to. I’m not sure. I got a boner while talking to Draco. Is that good?”

“Not good,” said Dean, leaning heavily on Harry’s shoulder. “Cause of the Malfoy bit, not the boner for boys bit. Rock on, Harry. Wait, while talking?”

“He was standing very close to me.”

“All right then. Carry on. Least he’s gay. That’s something. Never get a crush on a straight boy, Harry.” Dean stared off into the night, his eyes dark and lonely. “Straight boys are bad for you. You think things that aren’t true, and you know they aren’t, but you convince yourself that they’re true and then it all comes crashing down, and you end up drunk in a forest alone.”

There was something very important in that sentence that Harry was missing, he knew it. “No straight boys. Got it. And maybe no Malfoy.”

“Definitely no Malfoy.”

They were coming up the path to their dorm room now. “Hey Dean. You’re not straight.”

“I’m not,” said Dean absently. “Oh. Oh. I’m not. Hey, wanna make out?”

You didn’t notice Dean was handsome until you did. He had these gorgeous soft eyes, and dimples so perfect that Harry couldn’t quite believe they were real.

“Yeah,” he breathed, and then they were.

Dean’s hands were hot under his shirt. Harry was half-hard in his jeans, and he could feel Dean pushing back, hard as well. God, he wanted to – he wanted to peel Dean out of these clothes, push him up against a wall, rut into him until they were just a mess.

“You good?” whispered Dean.

“I’m so good,” he whispered back.

“Fuck yeah.”

They pushed through the door of Dean’s dorm, still kissing. Harry peeled him out of his shirt. He had gorgeous abs. Maybe he should drop to his knees, suck him off. He’d never done it before, but how hard could it be?

“I take it I’m interrupting,” said a voice.

There on Dean’s bed, with the undeniability of the apocalypse, was Seamus.

Dean looked wrecked, and no less hard. “Sea, I – “

“Nah, I get it.” Seamus kicked the bed idly. “I was coming here to apologise, you know? But I guess this is how it’s gonna be now. Is this what turned you bi, Dean? Seven years touching your prick after lights out, waiting for Harry to notice you? Thank god I fucked off earlier so you could make your move.”

“Seamus, don’t,” said Harry, but Dean held him back.

“It’s fine,” said Seamus. “I’ll go. Maybe you should invite Blaise in here. I’ll put in my earplugs.”

As soon as he left, Dean collapsed. He was shaking, actually shaking on the bed. Harry was angry and aroused and much, much more sober.

“How dare he. How fucking dare he, Dean. He doesn’t have the right – “

“Harry, please. Don’t.”

And then suddenly it dropped on him like an anvil. “Dean, when you were talking about straight boys, were you – “

Dean’s eyes were open. He looked like he was seeing his death.

“You were talking about Seamus,” said Harry, and Dean let out the first real sob, curling into himself more.

“I’m sorry, Harry. Fuck, I’m so sorry, you just wanted – “

“Shh, shh.” Harry settled onto the bed, stroking Dean’s hair. “I’m here, ok? I’m your mate first, Dean. Just let it out. It’s going to be all right.”

Dean sobbed and sobbed, and Harry hugged him and stroked his back.

“We’re going to be all right, Dean. You and me, we’re going to be all right.”

“So how was Thomas?” said Draco, ambushing Harry as he came out of the campus coffee shop. He had something with whipped cream in his hand, and he looked far too happy for anyone’s sanity. “Good points? Bad points? Marks out of ten?”

“What?”

“I saw the two of you coming back from the pub last night. Don’t worry, Theo’s the only other person and he doesn’t care enough about you to tell anyone. I had to stage a blazing row with him to stall Blaise, otherwise he’d be presenting you with a rainbow-splattered condom and lube welcome basket right now.”

“Right,” said Harry through his teeth. “I’m possibly bi now, so apparently I need a whole basket of condoms. I’m probably shagging the whole town, right?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Harry, we’re both queer. We have something in common. I am attempting to build rapport.”

Harry thought about asking him why, and decided against it. He had no idea if wanting Draco to talk to him was some kind of sexual-awakening induced mania bought on by the kitchen boner, but that didn’t mean he wanted him to stop. “All right. Does the rapport have to involve talking about Dean’s dick?”

“Oh, was it a disappointment?”

“We didn’t actually get off in the end,” said Harry. “When we got to his room, Seamus was there and – yeah. It wasn’t pretty.”

“Fucking Finnegan. I mean fucking as in the adjective, not the verb. Don’t fuck Finnegan.”

“Furthest thing from my mind.”

“Is Thomas all right?” Harry expected some kind of sarcasm, but Draco looked like sincerely concerned. Harry sighed.

“Yeah, maybe. Actually no. His best friend is being a right arse. When you came out, were your friends – actually, don’t answer that. Blaise has already told me exactly how supportive he was of your sexuality.”

Draco went red. “That shit. He never could keep his mouth shut.”

“Go on then, Draco. Blaise – good points, bad points, marks out of ten?”

“None, all of them, and zero. You called me Draco.”

That stopped Harry short. “Yeah, I mean. We did agree.”

“Hmm.” Draco frowned. “It sounds unnatural.”

“You want me to stop?”

“Huh? No. I think you’ll always be Potter to me, though. Don’t expect that to change.”

Harry looked at him sideways. Draco was bouncing as he walked, smiling aimlessly. “You’re, like, ridiculously happy today. Did you take something from Blaise?”

“Merlin no, I’ve learnt my lesson there. After about five times. And a sixth that he lied to me about. I just feel fantastic this morning. I feel – “ He stopped for a moment. “I feel like everything is finally going my way. Like just this once I might get what I want.”

They stood there on the pavement, smiling like idiots, and Harry couldn’t for the life of him think what to say. He just wanted to stay there, in the late-October sunshine, looking at Draco Malfoy be happy.

“Anyway,” said Draco, beginning to walk again. “I’m now officially no longer the most hated person in the flat. Blaise has been bemoaning Seamus to anyone that will listen, which is _everyone,_ so there’s some nice anti-Finnegan sentiment going. I think Hermione’s whipping people up and demanding that no one talk to him until he’s apologised.”

“I don’t think Dean will like that,” said Harry, thinking of Dean’s broken form last night, his whispered confessions.

Draco shrugged. “Tell your girl Granger, not me. Anyway, I think it will do him some good.”

“Will it?” said Harry. “I mean, ostracizing him instead of talking to him? He’s probably been around talk like that his entire life. Shutting him out will just lock him into it.”

“Sure,” said Draco. “Subject Dean and Blaise to socialising with a vocal homophobe, just so that Seamus can one day learn his lesson. Sod the damage to them.”

“I’m not saying I particularly want to be around Sea right now. But doing this is just going to hurt him. What’s he going to do, mope at the side lines until he finally gives in and apologises? That’s pretty cruel.”

“Worked on me,” said Draco, his voice heated. “Maybe you just need to tell him to fuck off in a really loud voice. Might shake an apology out of him.”

“Don’t start.”

“Start what? I’m not saying it was wrong, Harry. But it’s fine for me, but not for Seamus? Why doesn’t he get consequences for his actions?”

“It was different with you.”

“How?”

“Because you were a – “

Harry stopped just in time.

Or rather, just in time to make the hurt irreversible. Maybe the fact that he’d paused would give Draco a reason to think he didn’t mean it. Maybe he could play it off as something else.

“A what, Harry,” whispered Draco. His eyes were disappointed, and in that moment Harry hated them. People should be able to hide what they were feeling. It was only good manners.

“Well,” said Draco. “There goes our rapport. That lasted – what, a week? See you round, Potter.”

He walked off back in the direction they’d come.

A week later, Draco still wasn’t talking to him and Harry was still mad about it.

Draco was, however, finding plenty of time to talk to Seamus. Harry had seen the two of them studying in the library, or eating a picnic lunch in the sunshine. Draco’s eyes always slid off him. Apparently _now_ he could make them unreadable. Now, when it mattered.

“It’s like, what, I’m not allowed to mention it?” he said over drinks at the London Stone. Everyone was there except Draco (ignoring Harry), Seamus (shunned forever) and Theo (responded to all invitations with a blank look until the inviting party left). “Sure, get mad at everyone who ever mentions your past. Let’s see how well that goes for you in life.”

“Is he still talking about this?” said Morag. Parvati mimed shooting herself.

“Right,” said Blaise, grabbing Harry by the scruff of his neck. “We’re on pint three, Potter. You’re coming outside for a smoke with me.”

“But I don’t really smoke – “ It had no effect. Blaise dragged them out to the beer garden – empty, predictably, on a Tuesday night – and almost threw Harry at a bench, before sitting down heavily opposite him.

“Harry. Harry Potter. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but your dear friend Granger is quite popular these days.”

Harry blinked. “Yeah, Hermione’s great. I’m glad people like her.”

Blaise sighed. “Oh, this is going to be difficult. Harry, did you know that Hermione went to the cinema with Anthony on Monday?”

“Yes? I think she told me about it.”

“And that on Tuesday she went ice skating with Terry Boot.”

“I don’t know. I have loads of lectures on Tuesday.”

“And on Wednesday she had lunch with Michael Corner and then drinks with Anthony, again.”

“I did know about lunch on Wednesday!” said Harry triumphantly.

Blaise pinched his nose. “Harry. They are dates. Your friend is dating three boys at the same time, all of whom are friends, and sooner or later it’s going to devolve into an ugly fist fight. Do you not think you should be, maybe, talking to her about this?”

“Um.”

“Or talking to your sad friend Dean?”

“Ah.”

“Or doing anything – anything at all – that isn’t talking about Malfoy, before Morag puts us all out of our misery and Kevadra’s you?”

“Would she?”

“She has twenty-eight piercings, Harry. Some are in places I can’t name without squeezing my legs together. The woman has endured pain none of us can even imagine.”

“Thanks, I get the picture,” Harry stammered. “I’ll just – I’ll talk to Hermione.”

“Not about Draco?”

“Not about Draco.”

“Good.” Blaise stood. “Glad we had this little talk.”

“Can I have a cigarette?”

“I only smoke Cubans, Harry, and I’m not wasting them on your baby smoking habit.” He strode off, and Harry waited outside for a little bit, wondering when he’d become such an irredeemable bore, before following.

He found Hermione leaning against the bar, ordering something called a “Screaming Orgasm.” Harry shot her a concerned look.

“Don’t,” she said. “Parvati says it’s brilliant. She’s been really good to me, considering how much of a bitch I was to her in week one. She’s been helping me do my make-up – I did my own contour tonight, and she’s really proud of me. Do I look good, Harry?”

She did, actually, her cheekbones magnified. “Yeah. You look great. I’m glad you’ve got a girl friend.”

“She’s not my – oh, _girl friend._ Yeah, she’s studying law too, so we’ve got a bit of a study group going together. Well, not really a group. It’s just the two of us, or sometimes Susan. I suppose we should invite Malfoy too, but it’s quite nice just to be around other women, you know? Not that you’re not great – I just wish I’d had someone like her at Hogwarts. Apparently I’m full of internalised misogyny. I’ve been reading all these really cool feminist authors – I have to lend you my Audre Lord. I’m learning so much, not just outside my course. I just feel – “ She sighed dreamily. “I feel like I’m really expanding my mind. Like I’m becoming a new person. Don’t you feel changed, Harry?”

“Sure,” he said. He didn’t feel very changed at all, really. He was still just Harry, and he was beginning to worry that might not be enough anymore. “How about your love life?”

“Huh? Oh, the thing you saw with Anthony? I’m just exploring. I don’t want a relationship. Parvati and I are having too much fun being single women right now.”

“Right.” _Parvati and I._ That was fine. On cue, Parvati appeared on the other side of Hermione with metaphorical precision, and Hermione turned towards her, face lighting up.

“Parvati! I was just telling Harry about the reading I’ve been doing. I finished _Zami,_ and – “

Harry drifted away. He considered going back to the group, but Dean was happily schooling Morag at pinball (the machine now fixed) and everyone else was getting up to dance. He didn’t really want to dance. He wanted Ron, who would have happily listened to him bitching about Malfoy and suggested a few of George’s finest to use on him. Maybe he should go home and firecall him. That sounded like a good idea.

Nobody noticed when he left the pub. He moped along, barely even feeling when it started to rain. Ron would know what to do. Ron wouldn’t throw him over for someone new. Except Ron had his exciting new auror life now. And Pansy. He’d been drinking with Draco too. He’d probably tell Harry he was being ridiculous, and that he needed to get over himself.

Was this how it was going to be? Now that the war and all their adventures weren’t binding them together, were Ron and Hermione going to realise that Harry was more trouble than he was worth? It was probably strange to stay close to the same people who’d been your best friends at eleven for the rest of your life. Ron was well-muscled and heroic now, and Hermione was made-up and pretty and finally discovering life outside of books – or life in different books, at any rate. They’d probably meet up soon and discover how wonderful the other was, and then they’d be back in a relationship and Harry would be even further out than he had ever been.

He was just entertaining a vivid fantasy of finding out about Ron and Hermione’s wedding through the newspapers when he turned a corner and found Draco Malfoy, drinking alone on a bench at the edge of the Royal College’s grounds.

“Hi,” he said, because he was stupid.

“Hi,” said Draco, because he was apparently just as stupid as him. “I’m meant to be avoiding you. I’m – angry. Yeah. Angry and stuff. You know.”

“Are you drinking alone?”

“Yes. I wasn’t. Finnegan was here. He left to throw up, and now here I am. A sad lonely bastard.”

“I’m a sad lonely bastard too.”

“Good.” Draco shoved the bottle in his direction. “Have some gin.”

The gin was neat. It burnt on the way down, and Harry sat down heavily on the bench, coughing.

“Why are you hanging out with Seamus? I thought you wanted him to be ostra- ostra – ignored.”

“Ostracized,” said Draco. “He’s the only person I can talk to who isn’t going to involve talking to you. Of course, it means I have to talk about Thomas. Bloody Thomas.”

“I thought we were mad at Seamus?”

“We were? I’m mad at both of them. Who are you mad at?”

“Myself, mostly.” Harry drank again. It wasn’t so bad the second time. “Sorry I said that. Actually, I’m not sorry. I mean, I am. But. It’s going to come up, Draco.”

“Still on a first name basis, I see.”

“Malfoy.”

“I wasn’t complaining.” Draco grabbed the bottle back and drank. “I know. I just want to be a new person. But I can’t be, can I?” He grabbed the sleeve of his left arm and pushed it back, revealing his Dark Mark and spilling a decent amount of the gin on his trousers. He didn’t push it in Harry’s face. Just stared at it, sad and lost. “Same old Draco Malfoy. Always and forever. Written on my skin.”

“Hermione’s got mudblood written on her skin.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just because it’s on your skin doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“It was true though, wasn’t it? I was a Death Eater. Am. I mean, was. I don’t know. Can you ever stop being yourself?”

“I don’t think being a Death Eater is all you are, Draco.”

“But everything it represents, I still am. Proud. Mean. Arrogant.”

“You’re not those things anymore.”

“I bloody am.”

“All right, but they’re not – they’re not necessarily bad things. Virtue ethics, remember? There’s no right way to be a person. You can pick your own thing to be.”

“The point of virtue ethics is that there very much is a right way to be a person.”

“Bugger. I knew I didn’t understand it.”

Draco laughed, and passed the bottle back to Harry. “How did you do on that essay, by the way?”

“Bossed it. Seventy percent. Even Hermione was impressed. You?”

“Eighty-five.”

“Prick.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t think I can change either.” He stared down the depths of the bottle. “I think I’m just Harry forever. No one seems to need Just Harry anymore.”

“Just Harry did some pretty good stuff.”

“Did. Don’t need that anymore, do they? No more Dark Lords.”

“I could have a go at taking over the world if it would make you feel better.”

“Hah. You’d be a terrible dictator.”

“I would?”

“Yeah. You’d have a crisis in the middle.”

“All right, I’ll ask Nott then.”

“He scares me.”

“He should. Harry. Aren’t you meant to be out with your mates tonight?”

“They don’t want me,” said Harry. He drank again. “Apparently I’m boring.”

“Why?”

“Everyone wishes I would stop talking about you.”

“I wish I could stop thinking about you. What a pair we make.”

“You think about me?”

“Constantly. It’s very annoying. I’m trying to have a nice day, and there’s Harry Potter in my head. And now that we’ve gone back to hating each other – as if we ever really stopped, I suppose.”

“What do I do in your head?”

“What _don’t_ you do in my head?” Draco snickered. “Sorry, sorry. Mostly you disapprove.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. I was disapproving. But you’re all right now. I missed you. You’re – “ He waved his hands around, trying to encompass the whole university. “You’re part of this. What did you mean, _what don’t you do in my head?”_

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do.” They were very close now. Draco’s eyes could have drowned continents. “I think I really do.”

“Harry – “

“I think about you too,” he said. “All the time. What do I do in your head?”

Draco pressed a shivering hand onto Harry’s chest. “Why don’t I show you.”

The next morning, Harry opened his eyes and saw Draco Malfoy. Well, more specifically, Draco Malfoy’s comically shocked eyes.

“Oh,” said Harry.

“Yeah,” said Draco. “Fuck.”

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move, and clearly Draco couldn’t move either. It was kind of like that Muggle movie, with the T-Rex – they can’t see you if you’re not moving. Or maybe that was Velociraptors. Draco was more like a Velociraptor anyway. He should learn more about dinosaurs.

“Potter,” said Malfoy, his voice a low growl. “Please stop staring at me in shock and tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

“I’m thinking about dinosaurs,” said Harry, because he was too hungover to lie.

Draco stilled even more, if that was possible. “Potter. What the fuck is a dinosaur.”

“They’re like – they’re like these big lizards that roamed the earth millions of years ago. A bit like dragons but more, uh. Birdlike. But no wings. Well, some had wings. But no fire. I think.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Malfoy, turning his face into the pillow. “I knew I was good in the sack, but I had no idea that I would literally fuck your brains out.”

“It was good sex,” said Harry.

“Fuck,” said Draco. He scrubbed his face. “It was really, really good sex. Fantastic. Glad we got that out of our system. Now, you have twenty seconds to give me any thoughts you might have on the matter, and then we’re going to leave this bed and never ever talk about it again.”

“Why not?”

Draco made an angry little noise. “Because this was a terrible idea, Potter. We hate each other, remember?”

“Oh,” said Harry, “yeah.” Then – “I don’t hate you, though. I think. I don’t know. It was great sex, though.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic. Only you, Potter. Only you could make sex a life ruining act.”

“But we should never do it again.”

“Absolutely.”

“We haven’t actually left this bed yet, though,” said Harry. “So, technically, never doing it again hasn’t started yet.”

After his second orgasm of the morning – the first one had been a bit of frantic rutting against each other, the second a wickedly long blow-job that had Harry screaming – they settled back into their original positions, sides swapped.

“Well,” said Harry. “Glad we definitely made sure we’d gotten that out of our systems.”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Draco. “I need to get up to piss, but then I’m coming back to the bed.”

“Right,” said Harry.

“So it’s not really leaving, you see. It’s just – “

“Nature calling.”

“Exactly.”

Draco got up to piss, and then he came back to bed and tossed them both off with one hand straining around the combined width of them, cock rubbing slickly against Harry’s, while his other hand sunk into Harry’s hair and pulled his head back. The noises he made were filthy and incandescent.

“You know,” said Harry, as the afterglow faded. “I haven’t actually kissed you yet. Sober, I mean.”

Draco raised his bleary head from the pillow. “It’s not happening again, Potter.”

“I know,” said Harry. “I mean – it just seems wrong that I haven’t kissed you yet.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You insufferable Gryffindors. Fine. One kiss.”

“Sure,” said Harry, and kissed him. Draco’s mouth was warm and sweet under him, and there was a nasty bitter aftertaste of cigarettes but somehow that made it more real, the two of them tangled together. One kiss turned into two, and then another, and then Draco was moaning and clinging to Harry, his body supple around him.

“Fuck,” said Draco, breaking for air. “Ok, look, I’d feel terrible if your first big gay adventure didn’t teach you some of the basics. Grab that bottle of lube over there.”

And so that was how Harry ended up opening Malfoy up with slick fingers while Malfoy talked him through it. Malfoy was warm around him, and the noises he made like this were so different to all the other times – he twisted and gasped and shuddered and at one point actually mewled, though he ruined the effect of that one by shooting an angry glance at Harry immediately afterwards.

“Your fault, Potter,” he said through clenched teeth. “Usually I’m much more – more – more – “

He came again, and Harry couldn’t help it - he had to touch himself, had to, and Draco was crooning sweet things and running his hands up and down Harry’s thighs and then he was coming onto Draco’s chest. Harry kissed him again, because he just couldn’t help it.

“Jesus,” said Draco a few moments later. “Ok, get out of this bed right now, before it ‘never happens again’ again.”

“Sure,” said Harry. He leaned into kiss him one more time, but Draco turned his face away, and Harry tried to ignore how that made him feel. He leapt off the bed and started flinging his clothes on, trying to ignore the fact that he was going to have to wash them thoroughly to make sure they didn’t stink of cum forever. Or possibly burn them. What did cum smell like when it burned? Would everyone in the flat know what he was doing?

“Oh god,” he whispered. “You did it. You did fuck my brains out.”

“I should fucking coco,” said Draco, eyes closed. He looked like a very smug cat, which bought disturbing McGonagall related images to Harry’s mind that he really didn’t need in the wake of sex, thanks. “And this never happens again. Crystal?”

“Sure,” said Harry. “But, like, if it does, I’m in number ten.”

“Get out before I hex you,” muttered Malfoy. Harry grinned and got out of the room, before he did any of the very odd things he wanted to do, like brush Malfoy’s hair back from his forehead, or kiss him again.

He walked out of the room still smiling to himself, and ran straight into Hermione coming out of the room opposite.

The trick was to act natural. To say something normal. To do anything other than standing there like a deer in the headlights. He’d talked his way out of trickier situations, he could do this.

“Hey, Hermione, what are you doing here?”

Hermione flushed a deep crimson, which was odd, but hovering low on the oddness scale of the day. “I – I’ll have you know – this is my flat, Harry, what are you doing here? In Malfoy’s room? Oh – oh – “

“Shhhhhh,” Harry hissed, as Hermione got closer to shrieking. “I’ll just – I’ll explain later – just shhh!”

“Oh my god!” She stabbed a finger into his chest. “Oh my god, Harry. Harry. Oh my god!”

“Would you please be quiet!”

“Harry, you great big – sex-haver! You were having sex!”

“Hermione, would you – wait, that isn’t your room.”

“Um.”

It was his turn to finger-jab her. “Your room is number five. That’s number six.”

“Um.”

“You! You – you hypocrite! You’re a sex-haver too!”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then both collapsed into giggles, frantically shushing each other. It felt just like being back at Hogwarts again, slamming the portrait behind them as they narrowly avoided Filch, but better.

“Shh-shh -ok.” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “Ok, look – I need a shower, and you probably need a shower, but do you want to come over after and I’ll pop on some bacon and we can – I don’t know.”

“Dish,” sniggered Hermione. “Dish the dirt on the boys.”

“Exactly.”

“Sounds smashing, Harry. I’ll be over in five.”

Harry rushed through his shower and then set about the kitchen, still whistling. Hermione pottered in a few moments later, hair still wet.

“I missed a lecture,” she said. “I can’t believe I missed a lecture to have sex. Who have I become, Harry?”

“Uni is a time for trying new things,” he said, plating their sandwiches. “So, who was it? Boot? Corner? Ugh, not Nott, was it?”

“Goldstein,” said Hermione through her hands. “And it was really bloody good, Harry. I mean, not to imply that Ron wasn’t – “

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Fair enough. But – but yes, it was good. Very good. I didn’t know I could come that much – stop making that face, Harry, you did ask.”

He supposed he had. “So are you two together now?”

She waved a hand. “No, nothing like that. Casual sex only. I said as much, and he said as much, and it was all very nice and friendly.”

“Nice and friendly is the best way to have sex.”

“Oh, is that what you and Draco are now?” she said slyly. “Friendly?”

Harry tipped his head down and groaned. “I think we had the least friendly sex it is possible to have.”

“Hatesex,” said Hermione, knowingly. “Parvati says that that’s amazing.”

“I don’t – think we hate each other?” 

“No, you don’t. But you’ve got tension. Ohhh, it was sexual tension. It was sexual tension all along.”

“It was what?”

She pointed at him, laughing nastily. “You’ve got a crush on Draco Malfoy!”

“I do not!”

“You do! You’ve got a crush on him and you’re having sex with him! Oh my god. Is it going to happen again?”

Harry considered this as he plated up the fry-up. On the one hand, Draco hadn’t actually said it was going to happen. Had said exactly the opposite. But. They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. Draco had whispered that he was beautiful. Well, actually his precise words had been “ _It’s so fucking annoying that you’re beautiful,”_ but the point still stood. And Harry had offered, hadn’t he? Draco knew where to come if he changed his mind. He would have put money that Draco would show up again that night.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling to himself. “Yeah, it’s going to happen again.”

Draco didn’t show up that night. He did show up the next, at nine, looking furtive and shifty. Which was actually rather par for the course.

“Look,” he said, as soon as Harry opened the door. “If we’re doing this, it’s going to be a secret. I won’t have my good name sullied by having sex with the likes of you.”

“Ok,” said Harry, wondering whether to mention that Hermione already knew. He decided against it. “Can you do to me what I did to you, that last time? With the lube?”


	2. If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than the last monster. Originally, I wanted to break chapter 1 into two chapters and make it a bit more even, but I couldn't work out where to put the break. This one does feature more Slytherins, and also Draco's point of view (and Dean's! Poor Dean.)
> 
> There will be a bit of a delay before posting chapter 3 - less of it is written. I have almost all of the ending, but I'm still winding my way there. 
> 
> I think it is worth noting that in the original word document, this chapter started on page 69.

Harry fucked Draco for the first time on the last day of September.

“I’m nervous,” he said, running his thumb over Draco’s hole. Draco was laid out on the bed before him, hips pushed up with a pillow. Harry had opened him up with his fingers – he wasn’t quite ready to use his tongue yet, no matter how good it felt when Draco did it to him – and he thought he’d done a pretty good job if the way Draco swore in triplicate was any indication.

“You’re nervous?” said Draco. “I’m the one who has to deal with you fumbling about in my arse.”

“You seemed to like my fumbling about earlier,” said Harry, lining up his cock, and Draco moaned and shifted, glaring at Harry with irritation and fondness and naked, breath-taking want.

He’d thought that actually fucking might be some watershed moment, but it wasn’t. It was more of the same, more of them – this frantic need for each other’s bodies, the shared bewilderment that both of them could like this so much. The way that Draco would look at him like he couldn’t believe this.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t brilliant.

Draco was tight and warm and glorious, and Harry had to grip his hands into fists to stop himself from coming. He thrust in, shallow at first, running his hands gently across Draco’s trembling back.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, thrusting faster, unable to stop himself. “You’re so amazing.”

He remembered Draco saying that he needed a hand on himself to finish, and he reached round. His hand was batted away.

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

Draco’s face was pained. “Because if you do that, I’m going to come.”

Because he was enjoying Harry fucking him. Loving it so much that he didn’t trust his body. He was rocking forward onto Harry’s dick each time he thrust, moaning and clawing at the bedsheets, and Harry couldn’t help himself, went faster, rougher.

“Is this ok?” he whispered, and Draco pushed back.

“Merlin, Potter, yes.”

“Call me Harry.”

“No.”

“If you don’t call me Harry, I’ll _stop,”_ he said, punctuating that with a vicious thrust that sent Draco sprawling.

“Harry. _Harry._ Stop and I’ll kill you.”

Draco came first, Harry following close behind with a yell of _You’re so – so – so – fuck_ that must have startled the birds outside. He collapsed on top of Draco’s back, which was shaking. He was actually shaking, Harry had fucked him so well. He was –

He was laughing.

“What?”

“Sorry. Not at you.” He giggled again. “This sometimes happens after I’ve come really hard.”

Harry laughed too, and kissed him under his ear. “You’re brilliant.”

“I am?”

“Yeah.” He pulled out gently, rubbing Draco’s hole with his thumb just to feel it flutter again. “You’re – you’re so brilliant. I’ve never had sex – “

“What?”

Harry shot him a glare. “I’ve never had sex with someone who – _responds_ as much as you do. Feeling you get off, the sounds you make.”

Draco blushed furiously. “Yes, well. The only other person you’ve had sex with was a lesbian. Seeing as I’m so brilliant, do you think you could grab me a glass of water? I think most of the fluid just left my body.”

“Gross,” said Harry, pulling on a robe. He found Morag, Anthony and Nott in the kitchen, arguing over some obscure point of magic.

“Hello, Harry,” said Nott. “Say, is Malfoy over? I thought I heard him.”

“Uh.” Harry tried not to look like someone who’d just had sex. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re studying.”

“Together?” said Morag.

“We both take Ethics.”

“In your robe?” said Anthony. He sounded extremely polite.

“Well, you know. No point getting dressed!” He ran out of the kitchen, spilling a decent amount of the water down his robe. Draco hissed when he saw it.

“Decided to wear most of my drink as decoration, I see.”

Draco fucked Harry for the first time a few days later.

“Not nervous this time, then?”

“Nope,” said Harry, trying to focus on his breathing. Draco was rubbing teasing patterns across his arse. “You seem to like it.”

“You don’t have to, you know. Lots of men don’t.”

“I like it when you do it with your fingers. Why not your cock?”

“Bloody Gryffindors,” said Draco, and pushed in.

Harry did like it. Liked it so much that he was reduced to incoherence, hands scraping against the wall as he babbled. He felt messy, wet, open. There was nowhere to hide when someone was fucking you, fucking you so hard that the bed shuddered and the walls shook and his body felt like it was unravelling beneath Draco’s hands.

“God, Potter, look at you. Such a slut. You love this, don’t you?” cooed Draco, which would have been irritating if it wasn’t such a turn-on.

Draco called him Harry now, but only Potter when they were in bed – unless Harry was fucking him, when he forced him out of it. He asked Draco about it when they were lying there in the afterglow, legs tangled around each other.

“When we’re out of here, you’re Harry. When we’re fucking, you’re Potter. Best that way. Lines don’t get blurred.”

“Sure.” Just like Hermione said, nice and friendly. “Can I call you Draco, though?”

“Yes, though I like – “ He coloured.

“What?”

“I might like it if you call me Malfoy when you fuck me. Don’t ask me why.”

“All right,” said Harry, and later he did so as fucked Draco’s mouth, threading his fingers through that gorgeous, unnatural shock of hair. _Malfoy, Malfoy, open up for me, just take it._

“Are you and Draco all right?” Dean asked him a few days later over a post-lecture pint. He had a smudge of blue high on his neck that Harry wasn’t planning on telling him about.

“Fine.” He tried not to obviously panic. They weren’t obvious, were they? Sure, there had been that time the whole block had gone to the pub and he and Draco had ended up in the loos trading hand-jobs, but he thought they’d pulled it together convincingly afterwards. “How are you and Seamus?”

Dean grimaced. Seamus was no longer a persona non grata, but there was still an edge between the two of them. “Fine, as ever. He apologised to me, again. Properly this time. Apparently your man Malfoy set him straight.”

“My man? And how?”

“They hung out together, and being around a real actual gay who definitely didn’t want to shag him made him change his mind a bit. Also Draco went on a big rant about how repeating what your parents said blindly led to ruin and calamity. There may have been a slideshow. Seamus clearly didn’t want to revisit it.”

“And how are you? With the – thing?”

“Poetic, Harry. I know he’s not gay, but if he was he’d be giving off serious mixed signals. Like the other night, when we held hands on the way back from the pub. It was a joke at first, sure, but then he didn’t let go. Just held my hand for an hour while we spoke about nothing. He’s always been tactile, I guess. It’s not new. It’s my own fault for getting confused. Pity he only does it when he’s drunk, now.”

Draco laughed when Harry asked him about the slideshow. “There was only one slide,” he said, and touched his left arm. “You avoid touching it.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. I know it’s ugly.” He was tracing the lines of it with his fingertips. “Ugly mind, ugly body as my mother always used to say.”

Harry leant forward and stroked it, the long smooth line of the skull, the delicate fractures around the sockets. “Do you ever think you might get it covered up?”

“I don’t know. It would feel a bit like hiding from the past, you know?” He leant into the warmth of Harry’s shoulder. “I am serious about making amends. Let’s not talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Do you want to?”

“No. But if you want to – “

“I don’t. It hurt so much. Sometimes it still does. That’s me. A collection of scars.”

Harry leant over and traced the long slashes of Sectumsempra across his chest. There was another one, high on his bicep, which he guessed was from Buckbeak. “And the body they’re on. Does this one still hurt?”

“No.” Draco’s eyes were impossibly lovely and sad. “When you did it – I felt relieved. That’s a horribly fucked up thing to say, isn’t it?”

Harry took his hand, guided it to the faint lightning scar on his chest that matched the one on his forehead. “When I walked into the forest – I felt relieved then too.”

Draco shivered and buried his head in his chest. “God. This is why I didn’t want to talk about it. I’m having feelings, Potter. Like some sort of first year.”

“Hermione says feelings are good.”

“Oh well, if _Granger_ is a fan.”

Hermione, queen that she was, had managed not to fall into a confusing friends-with-benefits situation with Anthony after sleeping with him one time. They were still flirting and going out for coffee, but so were she and Terry Boot and she and Michael.

“It’s fun, that’s all,” she’d told Harry, when he’d mentioned Blaise’s future-fist-fight theory. “They all know it’s just fun. I think Terry actually has a point-scoring system for them. He’s taking me swing-dancing, which I’m dubious about.”

“He does know it’s not actually the forties, right?”

“I haven’t got the heart to tell him. I just feel like I’m different people with all of them. I’m trying stuff out, you know? With Michael I get to be this pretentious arty intellectual, and with Anthony I get to be academic and sexy and political – we’re going to a protest for Centaur Rights, which – “

“Hermione. Love life.”

“Yes, sorry. And with Terry I get to be this flirty, witty creature that’s always teasing.”

“Who do you actually feel like yourself with?”

“You and Parvati, I suppose.”

“I admire her,” said Draco, lying supine after Harry had given him a blowjob worth “five stars,” apparently. “She’s a brilliant witch, and she should know how many options she had. Thank god she didn’t settle down with the weasel and sink into domestic stupefaction.”

“Oi,” said Harry, poking him. “You like Ron now, don’t you? He’s been good for Pansy.”

“So she says,” muttered Draco. “Well, the lest said about that the better. Your cock is poking me in the back, Potter.”

“Do something about it, then,” he said, and Draco did.

It was harder than Harry had expected to keep a secret. For one thing, he’d never been entirely secure in his Muffling charms and for another, people suddenly seemed fascinated by his love life. Not just _The Prophet,_ which continued to print the occasional photo of him on a night out lending Hannah his arm, or twirling Morag around the dance floor. Actual people who he cared about.

“Harry,” said Blaise, cornering him outside the library with Susan appearing at his other side. “Me and Bones have decided to do something about your crushing loneliness.”

“I didn’t know I had a crushing loneliness.”

“In your romantic life, Harry,” said Susan.

“Sod romance,” said Blaise. “In your pants, Harry. Everyone else is using uni as a way of expanding their sexual horizons, and you’re – “

“Sitting out half our pub nights and generally wandering around in a daze,” said Susan. Harry had been sitting out a few pub nights, because sometimes just as they were leaving Draco would give him the _look,_ and pool and beer suddenly lost their appeal.

“The daze of loneliness.”

“Right. _Crushing_ loneliness.”

“Unless there’s something you’re not telling us?” said Blaise, peering at Harry.

“We’re your friends,” said Susan. “It’s imperative we know what’s going on with you.”

“So we can fix the loneliness.”

“The _crushing_ loneliness.”

“Exactly, Bones.”

“Um, have you two been out expanding your sexual horizons?” said Harry. “Because I thought you’d mostly just been coming to the pub with us.”

Susan sniffed. “What, think a big girl like me can’t get it, Potter?”

“I myself have been committed in the pursuit of one Rubenesque auburn beauty – “ said Blaise.

“Just say fat,” said Susan. “It’s less annoying.”

“But unfortunately, she refuses to see my ardent expressions of desire as anything other than an irritant, so I remain in miserable chastity.”

“Her name was Charity, Blaise, and she seemed quite cheerful when she was making us pancakes this morning.”

“She was nice,” said Harry. “You should keep her around. Way better than Diamond.”

Blaise ignored him. “ _Emotional_ chastity, Bones. Now Harry, about the loneliness – “

“Do you think Blaise is serious about Susan?” Harry asked Draco that evening, in between kisses.

“It’s Blaise,” said Draco, dropping to his knees and fiddling with Harry’s fly. “He once told me that monogamy was the only STD he’d never caught.”

As far as Harry could tell, he was the only one who was _expanding his sexual horizons._ Well, apart from Draco and Blaise, who kept up a steady stream of beauties. And Hermione. But that was only four out of fourteen, unless you counted Hermione’s binder of potential boyfriends. Well, Hannah seemed to have an off-again on-again text affair with a boy from her lectures. But that still left –

“Morag, Dean, Seamus, Nott and you,” said Harry, talking it over with Parvati later as they waited outside for their ethics lecture for Hermione to finish quizzing the lecturer. “And me,” he added quickly.

“You?”

“I’m not copping off with anyone.”

“Riiiiight,” said Parvati. “Well, I’m not sure where you got the idea that Morag’s celibate from. She’s almost as bad as Blaise.”

“I haven’t seen her out with any boys,” said Harry.

“Never change,” said Parvati fondly. “Anyway, would we know if Nott was seeing someone? He could get up to any amount of deviant shit on the side. And Dean and Seamus are locked in some sort of hideous battle of wills that’s going to end in a murder-suicide.”

“What about you?” said Harry, deciding to ignore the murder-suicide until it became an imminent threat.

“At the moment, I’m just waiting for someone,” said Parvati, staring into the hall as Hermione’s hand-gestures got ever more frantic.

“Yeah, Hermione.”

“What?”

“We both are,” said Harry. “Do you think she’ll ever leave that poor man alone?”

“Right,” said Parvati. “Um – probably not for a while. I’ll go grab us some coffees.”

Overall, October was one of nicest periods of Harry’s life. Blinding orgasms every night, love in the air for all his friends, horizons expanding – what could go wrong?

And then disaster struck, in the form of Eclectic.

“George is opening a nightclub,” said Ron. They’d managed to meet up on a Saturday, Ron’s auror training finally giving him a bit of room to breathe, and were camped out in The Leaky. Harry had spent so long in Muggle pubs that seeing drinks bobbing through the air had taken on a bit of novelty again. “He’s inviting most of our year to the opening, I think. Wants to make it a paparazzi event.”

“Fuck,” said Harry. The Royal College was extremely strict on the fact that no press were allowed on their grounds, so Harry had largely been left alone. That hadn’t changed the fact that he was hideously famous. Right now a crowd of photographers were encamped outside, and at one point Ron had stopped mid-sentence, leant over and grabbed the notebook out of the hands of the man at the next table. It had been full of quotes from their conversation. Ron had kept it, and Harry had stuck up a thick muffling charm. “Wait, George is opening a nightclub? Really?”

“Yeah. Can’t say I’m surprised – he always did like to party. Mum is furious, of course. Thinks this is going to be the death of our family reputation.”

“Didn’t she say that when Ginny punched that Keeper?”

“If we went by her count the family reputation would have more lives than a kneazle. It’s kind of nice to be the son that isn’t fucking up for once. Anyway – George, nightclub. Will you come? It would mean a lot to him.”

“Sure,” said Harry. “I’ll invite the uni lot.”

“Hermione included?”

Ron wasn’t looking at him. Harry leant over and patted his arm. “Yeah, her too. Have you spoken at all?”

“A few letters. I don’t have a lot of time to write, and from the sounds of it neither does she. She must be pretty busy studying, I guess.”

Hermione that week had been out for drinks with Parvati twice, rollerblading with Terry and two more protest with Anthony which had apparently included making out on the way back. “Yeah, you know her. Always in her books. Um, I was wondering… well, you see…”

“What?”

“IfIcouldinviteMalfoy,” said Harry, all in a rush. “Seeing as we’re inviting the whole flat. It just feels a bit unfair to leave him out. And Blaise and Nott. I mean, it’s cool if not. Totally cool.”

“Malfoy?” said Ron. “The same Malfoy who you wanted to punch in the face the last time we met up?”

“We’ve gotten better. He’s not so bad now. And you were drinking with him at the Stone, so I guessed that maybe you didn’t hate him anymore. And - ”

“It’s fine,” said Ron.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m bringing Parkinson. Can’t say I’m ever going to be the slimy gits biggest fan, but if you’re all getting along with him then I suppose he must have changed. Ugh, he’ll probably end up copping off with Parkinson there.”

“I doubt that,” said Harry, thinking of this morning where Draco had fucked him in the shower till he saw stars.

“Good. She’s too good for him anyway.”

“She is?”

“She’s great, Harry. I wish you could have stayed that time we ran into you in the pub. She’s really easy to get along with. I think you’ll like her, once you get to know her.”

“She said she joined the aurors to channel her penchant for violence.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, smiling softly. “She’s funny, isn’t she? Anyway, I can’t blame her if she goes for Malfoy. He’s rich, he’s tall, he’s probably got all the same posh-bitch mates as her. Plus he’s got a title.”

“I thought she was too good for him?”

“I know that, but she doesn’t know it. She needs someone who gets her, you know? Someone who isn’t going to force her to be the pureblood wife she doesn’t want to be.”

“So the club,” said Harry, desperate to be saved from the many values of Pansy Parkinson.

“Yeah. It’s called Eclectic. Shit name, but George apparently paid someone a lot of money to come up with the branding. It’s this Saturday. Do you think you can make it?”

“For George?” said Harry. “Absolutely.”

He raced up to Draco’s rooms when he got back. Draco was leaning against the sink in his bathroom, carefully brushing his hair. He always looked so neat, so calm. It made Harry want to ruffle him up again.

“Sorry, Harry,” he said, probably legillimensing him. “I’ve got to meet Pansy, so it’s your right hand today.”

“I’m not here for that. What are you doing Saturday?”

“Nothing much.” He reached into his stand, pulled out a box of cufflinks. “Why do you ask?”

“I wondered if you wanted to go to a club opening?”

Draco dropped his cufflink.

“A what?”

“Sorry, do you not like clubs? It’s just that George is opening one, and he asked me and Hermione to be there. I think he’s inviting most of our year, actually.”

“But not me,” said Draco.

“Uh,” said Harry, unsure on his territory. This was brushing dangerously close to talking about the war, something that by mutual consent they Did Not Do after the last time. “I asked if I could take you.”

Draco was still staring at him.

“I’m guessing I… shouldn’t have? I’m sorry. But Ron gave me one of the promotional leaflets, so it looks like it will be classy rather than tacky. And I’ve never been clubbing before, I think it could be really exciting. So say you’ll come? Please?”

“With you?”

“Well, I’m going, aren’t I?”

Draco smiled. “Well. Since you asked so nicely, Potter. Yes, Saturday sounds good.”

“Great,” said Harry, and kissed him, laughing against his lips when Draco batted him away.

“Merlin, Harry, why do you taste of onions?”

“Pub lunch. This is going to be great, I promise you. All right, I’ll leave you to Pansy.”

Harry raised upstairs and found Blaise and Susan in the kitchen, doing – something.

They _looked_ like they were waltzing, but that simply couldn’t be the case.

“What.”

Susan snapped up and caught his eye. “Harry! I’ve got to go a big benefit in a month or so, and I’ve managed to repress Sprout teaching us to waltz in fourth year so Blaise here is reminding me.”

“Oh, you had to do that too?” said Harry. “Yeah, Mcgonagall danced with Ron when she showed us. Hey Blaise, did Snape teach you?”

“No,” said Blaise. His smile had far too many teeth. “We Slytherins all already knew how, having been raised in the civilized world. Can we help you, Harry?”

“Oh, I just popped by to invite you to George’s club opening,” said Harry. He expected a bigger reaction from Blaise – it was a night of dancing, drink and wasted young women after all – but all he got was a muttered “Fabulous.”

“When?” said Susan.

“This Saturday,” said Harry, thankful to be distracted from whatever Blaise was doing with his face. “Think you can make it?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” She straightened her skirt. “I should get going, I’ve got a lecture in twenty. Ta for the waltz, Zabini.”

“It was an honour, my dear,” he said, bowing dramatically. She rolled her eyes, and swept out of the room. The second she was out the door, all Blaise’s gallantry melted away.

“Thanks for that, Potter. Just what I needed.”

“Er, what?”

Blaise rubbed his forehead. “Darling, when you walked in here and saw me and Susan waltzing, did you not think that it was a moment better left uninterrupted?”

“Er, no?”

“Marvellous. Keep on being Harry, Harry.”

Harry considered the situation. Reconsidered it. Watched as Blaise shifted his shoulders like he was carrying the heaviest of burdens. “I thought you weren’t serious about Susan.”

Blaise scoffed. “I’m as serious about her as a man of my calibre can be. Oh come, let us not talk of serious things. A club opening, you say? Run by a Weasley? This will be a riot.”

“It probably wouldn’t be very romantic to make a move on her in the kitchen.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about this.”

“You could make a move this Saturday.”

“She’s a challenge,” said Blaise, apparently deciding to open up. “A puzzle. A conundrum. Normally I could have a girl like her falling at my feet by now, but she seems utterly determined not to take me as anything but a joke.”

Harry scowled. “So you’re trying to use her.”

“No, Potter, I’m trying to fuck her. It’s not using if it’s a good time for all, you small-minded Puritan. But you may be right, about making a move on Saturday. I’ll dance her, romance her, keep her sober enough to not treat it as a mistake – “

“Why don’t you want her to – “

“You ask far too many questions. Are you sure you didn’t miss your calling as an auror? Anyway, enough about me. What about you, Harry? Planning anything romantic for Saturday?”

“No,” said Harry. Draco didn’t really count – it definitely wasn’t a romance if someone couldn’t call you by your first name when you were shagging. And he should probably take a leaf from Hermione’s book and try sleeping with someone else. Expanding horizons and all that. Maybe even someone he didn’t practically live with. It wasn’t as if Draco would mind – they’d been very clear on where they stood.

The thought of getting off with someone else didn’t seem terribly appealing, now that he thought about it. But it wasn’t like he could keep doing this forever – hanging around Draco and stealing these little moments. Eventually he’d have to find someone serious, wouldn’t he? Unless he and Draco – no. That wouldn’t happen.

“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

After five minutes of bitching about their various acquaintances, whether Pansy’s mother was really having a spiritual awakening or just having another affair and whether Theo and Daphne had finally called off their sham of an engagement, Pansy finally asked how Draco was.

“Oh,” he said. “I’m glowing. Potter just asked me on a date.”

Pansy dropped her teaspoon.

“Draco. Darling. When you first began this absolute skull-fuckery, you promised me that it was just sex.”

“Don’t be such a bloody Hufflepuff, Pans. I’m not going because I like him.”

“Of course you aren’t.”

“I’m going because it will be a boost to my reputation. And because…” He trailed off. Why was he going? He’d been very clear with Harry – just sex and friendship. Well, he’d been clear on the sex front, the friendship was more implied. It was nice to have Potter looking up at him so eagerly. For so long, there’d been Potter’s face in his head, turning away as Draco offered him his hand. Now, whenever the bad nights came and he could feel Nagini’s breath on him as real as life, there was another memory – Potter underneath him, shaking like the world was ending as Draco fucked into him – that he could pull around himself like a golden blanket to ward off the dark.

“Because it will be interesting,” he said, as Pansy scoffed. “Anyway, I want to see what a Weasley club is like. I promise to send you all the dirty details.”

“Don’t need to,” she said. “Weasley minor’s dragging me along.”

“On a date?”

“Not like that,” she said. “Do you really think that _two_ of us could be stupid enough to start shagging Gryffindors?” But her face was too blank, and her hands were shaking as she lifted her cup of tea.

“Oh, Pans,” said Draco, quietly.

He hadn’t been meant to see it at school. He’d been a bit of a shit about it, even if he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. He reckoned it had been around third year – the point where Pansy stopped being a sure thing for him and had started to pine, quietly, for Ron Weasley.

He remembered once, in sixth year, he’d actually bought it up. In a dickish way, of course, because sixth year hadn’t been his proudest moment. Pansy had cornered him and tried to force out from him what was going on with him.

“We’re sick of it,” she had hissed, blocking the way from the Slytherin boys dorm. “All you do is drop cryptic comments and then storm off. Stop the sulking and just talk.”

He’d bared his teeth. “Just talk? Bit rich from the girl who’s been bitching at Ron Weasley as foreplay for three years.”

Her face had dropped, and she’d stormed out and left him to make a mess of his own life. Which he had. With aplomb.

“I just – “ She put her head in her hands. “He’s got really big shoulders. Really big shoulders, Draco. And big hands. And he should be cocky and obnoxious, with a body like that, but he isn’t – he does these little movements, sometimes, these little gestures, and they’re so gangly and awkward and sweet. And he really is brave, and good, and strong, and – well, he’s such a fucking Gryffindor, but it turns out I’m kind of into that. And when I’m mean to him, he apologises. He doesn’t just go, “oh that’s Pansy, she’s kind of a bitch”. He actually wants to work out what’s wrong, and he tries to cheer my up in these stupid hamfisted ways that actually totally work. Oh fuck, Draco. I want to have his babies. Our kids would be so ugly.”

He patted her hand. “Absolutely horrific.”

She sniffed and stuck her middle finger up. “Oi, I can say it. You’re meant to say ‘no, Pansy, with your genes of course they’d be beautiful.’”

“When have I ever behaved like that? You’ve been spending too much time with Gryffindors, you’ve forgotten how normal people act. Anyway, the two of you are so angular. The baby would get his nose and your cheekbones and end up piercing its way out of the womb.”

“You’re one to talk about pointiness.”

He tossed his head back. “Yeah, but on me it’s elegant. And a sign of good breeding. Like a horse, or a really fine dog.”

“I know for a fact that your family tree is a straight line.”

“Well, unlike certain nouveau riche horrors I could name we haven’t had to marry into half a dozen families just to gain a bit of legitimacy.”

“Fat lot of good it did either of us in the end,” she said, raising her tea-cup, and he clinked his against hers.

“Well, it gave me an appreciation for good table manners, and a bundle of neurosis that Blaise assures me make me charmingly unpredictable.”

“He does terrible things for you ego,” said Pansy. “Remind me to have him arrested on false charges as soon as I actually make auror.”

Draco snorted. “Please, Pans. As if they’d have to be false.”

“So you know the club opening,” said Parvati, leaning against the door to Hermione’s room.

“Doooon’t.” She buried her face in her hands. “I have nothing to wear. Nothing. Do you think I could just not go?”

“I mean, you could go shopping.” Hermione glared at her from between her hands. “Orrrrrr you could let me take your measurements and my gorgeous twin sister with her own boutique will make you something, completely gratis.”

“Oh my god, seriously?” She practically jumped Parvati, throwing her arms around her. “Wait – I can’t do that, I can’t get something for free from Padma, I know she works so hard – “

Parvati waved her arm. “Please. Not to be crass but you’re Hermione Granger at a club opening. There’ll be paparazzi everywhere. All you need to do is tell one of them that you’re wearing Padma Patil and we’ll be even. Though if you want to treat it as a favour, there is one thing you could do for me.”

“Anything.”

“Go as my date? The outfits Padma has planned for us work best when we’re standing next to each other.”

Hermione shrieked and hugged her again. “You’re a lifesaver! I don’t know who I would have gone with otherwise.”

“Um, any one of the three Ravenclaw boys who follow you around constantly?”

“Ugh.” She released Parvati and flopped back onto the bed. “You know how I don’t know how to do girl things?”

“Yes, little miss Internalised Misogyny, I am aware.”

She threw a pillow and Parvati caught it, laughing. “What I’m trying to say is – can I talk to you about this? Ron and Harry weren’t great at talking about guys.”

Parvati laughed again. “Ok. Gimme a second – we need booze for a proper drinks and bitch session.”

“I have – I think I have a bottle of wine in the fridge?”

Parvati gave her a stern look, and disappeared, re-appearing a moment later with three bottles of gin and a case of tonic water levitated behind her.

“I don’t think we’ll need that much!”

“Hush, Hermione, they’re different flavours. We’re going to mix and match. This one is quince, and this one is elderflower, and this one is a tomato one that Padma bought me as a joke. Every time you say something terrible you have to drink some of that as punishment.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

Parvati grinned. “I’m a menace to society. Budge up.”

They curled up on the bed together as Parvati poured the drinks with a generous hand.

“All right. Fuck, marry, kill. Anthony, Michael, Terry.”

“Ugh.” Hermione took a deep drink. “Kill Michael. He’s smart, but he’s just so immature. And I get the sense that he likes that I’m smart, but would prefer it if I was just smart enough to follow what he’s saying but not smart enough to sometimes disagree, you know? You know Ginny broke up with him because Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw?”

“He is a drip.”

“And then – I don’t know. Maybe – “ her tongue stumbled over the word – “fuck Terry? I mean, he’s handsome, and charming, and really sweet and funny. But then he’d also probably slide into the ‘marry’ category. And Anthony – I mean, he’s just so fascinating, you know? We can go into long talks for hours and hours. And it’s not just academically fascinating – he really thinks deeply about everything.”

“Hmm,” said Parvati. “And he does give off the impression that he’d be absolutely filthy in bed.”

“Parvati!”

“What? Is he?”

“Ugh.” She buried her head in her hands. “Maybe I should just get back with Ron and have his terrible ginger babies.”

“Tomato gin for you,” said Parvati. “It’s fitting, because tomatoes are exactly what your babies with Weasley would look like. Anyway, if none of the three tickle your fancy, there’s a whole world out there of other men.”

“I don’t want a relationship,” said Hermione. “Not when I’ve got you.”

Parvati choked. “Sorry, what?”

“I just meant – “ Hermione’s face was hot. “I just meant that me and you, single girls, it’s fun. If I was actually dating one of them he’d always be around, hanging on, and we wouldn’t be able to go out and flirt with random guys anymore. I’d be there on the side lines, worrying about having a boyfriend and probably having to text him every five minutes.”

“Oh.” Parvati was regaining her colour. “You remember that the guy thing is all you, right? I told you about – “ _Lavender,_ she didn’t say, but Hermione covered her hand.

“I thought you were bi.”

“So did I. But no, I’m a full lesbian. You’re all right, aren’t you?”

“Of course. Sorry, it’s on me for assuming.” She bit her lip. “Can I ask a question?”

“Better than anyone I know.”

She thumped her on the shoulder. “How did you realise?”

“Well, there was Lav of course. And then when it became apparent that the whole kissing thing was something I wanted to talk about and Lav didn’t, I started doing a lot of reading. Most of that stuff I’d leant you. A lot of poetry. Muggle stuff. Wizards don’t seem to have a flourishing queer community, even though Sappho was definitely among us.”

“Sappho?”

“Ancient Greek poet. And Eileen Myles. ‘I think writing is desire, not a form of it.’”

“That’s beautiful. Got any more?”

Parvati hummed and pulled her knees up to her chest. When the light struck her just right, it turned her cheekbones sharper than metal. She looked alien, intense, unknowable.

“You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mary Oliver.” She leant into Hermione, her beautiful hair brushing across their shoulders. “That one reminds me of you, you know. The ‘you do not have to be good,’ part. You push yourself so hard. Always having to know the right answer.”

Hermione was drunk on her smell, drunk on the way her eyes glittered in her face. Her lips were the colour of plums.

“Tell me your despair, Hermione,” said Parvati, and her hand was on the small of her back, and the room felt very small.

“I don’t know who I am outside being clever,” she whispered, “and my parents don’t remember me, and I broke up with Ron, and I’m worried that no one will ever love me once they see what a small thing I am inside. I don’t know who I want, or who I like, or what I want to be. I think I might have to change the world, and I’m not sure the world wants me to change it. And I – I’m not sure _I_ want to. But I have to, don’t I? I helped save it, and now I have to change it, and I’m terrified of these three years being over before they’ve begun because this is the only chance I’ll ever have to take a break and figure myself out, so I can’t slow down, I can’t, because if I don’t do it all now then when will I ever?”

Parvati’s fingers laced through hers.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah.” She squeezed her hand. “Tell me your despair.”

“I wake up screaming half the nights and call my sister at three am, and I miss my best friend so hard that sometimes I can’t breathe, and my parents treat the whole war like it can’t be mentioned and just want me to hurry up and settle down. I’m studying law because they told me to when I really wanted to study Divination – don’t laugh. I practise by myself sometimes, but I can’t get the clarity to see the future, and I think it’s because I don’t really want to. Because I think it might be ordinary.”

Hermione leant forward, and rested her head against her friends shoulder. “You won’t ever be ordinary, Parvati. You’re astonishing. You’re so many things, all at once.”

“So are you, Hermione. And you’ve got the rest of your life to figure out all of them. You don’t want to change the word? Don’t. You do not have to be good, Hermione. You’ve done enough.”

And they stayed there, just a little while, until Parvati pulled away with her eyes glistening and announced that Hermione still needed to take her shot of tomato gin.

“Woah,” said Blaise. “Harry, hit me before I say something that will get me hexed.”

“As if that would stop you,” said Susan.

Hermione grinned and twirled. She was wearing a dress of deep red with a neckline that plunged down to her navel. It clung tightly to her hips and thighs, flaring just above her knees and giving her the kind of silhouette that Harry associated with Marilyn Monroe. Her lips were an even darker red, bright against her dark skin, with a pale gold shimmer on her eyes and cheekbones. Around her neck she wore loops and loops of filigree cold chains so delicate that Harry worried they would be pulled apart with one touch. Her hair had began to grow out from it’s close crop into the close corkscrews that he associated with her, and he was glad she’d decided to forego Sleakeazy’s.

“Bloody hell,” said Harry. He was wearing his best shirt and his only blazer, and had until now felt quite grownup. “You’re going to give Skeeter a heart-attack.”

“Isn’t she just,” said Parvati, wrapping her hand around Hermione’s waist. She was looking no-less heart-stopping, and seeing as she wasn’t Hermione and therefore practically his sister, it was causing a bit of a reaction in him. She wore a tiny dress of gold mesh that seemed to barely hang on by a thin strap round her neck, hanging low and loose around her chest. There was almost no back, and she seemed to have about eight miles of legs. Her hair was in a long, sleek ponytail with red flowers wrapped around the base.

“Padma is a bloody genius,” said Harry, and Blaise responded with a hearty “Hear, hear.” He had his arm wrapped around Susan’s shoulders, who was herself resplendent in a white silk shift dress, a white fur shrug that Harry hoped was fake and about twenty pounds of diamonds. Blaise was in a dark purple silk blazer smattered with emerald green flowers. Harry was beginning to feel like he should have made more of an effort. He looked resignedly across at Seamus and Dean, who were dressed pretty much the same as him. Seamus was even wearing jeans under his blazer. Thank god there were some men left on earth who were just as crap at dressing.

“Thank god one of you boys made an effort,” said Parvati. “Very natty, Blaise. It’s a pity that so much of men’s fashion is so boring.”

“I bet Ron’s just wearing a Weasley jumper,” said Harry. “At least I’ll look better than him.”

“Barely,” said Draco, appearing at the door. He looked –

“Woah,” said Harry again, because apparently all his brain cells were determined to desert him tonight. Draco was wearing an exquisitely tailored grey suit, with a deep blue waistcoat and a tie-scarf-thingy in palest silver. An opal the size of a baby’s fist was pinned at his neck, and Harry couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from it. The pale colours combined with his near-white colouring made him look ethereal and unreachable. A thousand miles away from the boy who writhed on his cock. Harry was getting hard just looking at him. He tore his gaze away and focused firmly on the grotty routing by the kitchen sink. Nothing arousing about mould. In the corner of his vision, he could see Draco smirk as he started discussing fabrics and cuts with Hermione and Parvati.

They made their way to the apparition point once the last two girls appeared – Hannah in a corn-flower blue minidress that was so short it might have just been a top, Morag in a much better suit than him. Draco took his arm as they started off, and Harry looked at him. This wasn’t what they normally did, was it? But Draco seemed determined not to acknowledge it apart from a small upturn at the corners of his mouth, so Harry ignored the sparks of electricity along his arm and focused on the chatter around him, and on willing down his slight erection. He’d been shagging Malfoy for about a month, it seemed ridiculous that just holding his arm could give him such a reaction.

 _Maybe it’s because it’s in public,_ said a small voice in Harry’s mind, but he ignored it.

“You do look pretty good tonight, Potter,” said Draco. Was that his bedroom voice? What was going on?

“Uh, thanks. I pretty much just shoved on the first thing I found in my closet.”

“Hmm.” Draco’s fingers were wandering up Harry’s bicep. “You do look a little tousled, it’s true. But you can pull it off.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening here,” said Harry. His head was completely empty. Why was he such a crap liar? How had he ever survived his childhood? Maybe it was just Draco, and Draco-adjacent things that turned him into a fool.

The arm-holding lasted until they arrived at the street outside Eclectic and the sparkle of flash-bulbs lit up ahead of them. There was an honest-to-god red carpet next to the queue inside, and Harry had a horrible feeling he’d be expected to walk up it. Draco jumped away like he’d been burnt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, to Harry’s questioning look. “It’s just – if they see me holding your arm, you know what they’ll say. I didn’t realise they’d be here. Stupid of me, of course. You – you don’t want that.”

“I really don’t give a fuck what they say,” said Harry. “But if you don’t want to – “

“Hullo, Harry,” said Ron, appearing out a side door. “Malfoy, you’re here at last. Pansy sent me to fetch you through the back entrance – said something about how you didn’t like the press. Nott and Zabini too, if you want to.”

Nott nodded, but Zabini just sniffed. “I don’t think so, Weasley. I didn’t dress this good to be seen by the barkeeps alone. Susan, will you do me the honour?”

Susan rolled his eyes but accepted his arm with good grace, and when Harry turned back to Draco he was disappearing through the door with Ron, who shot him a thumbs up.

Wonderful. Now he had nobody as his date, and the newspapers would definitely print something about his crushing loneliness. Blaise and Susan would probably give them anonymous tips, the fuckers.

“Sorry, Harry,” said Hermione when he looked at her beseechingly. “But I’m with Parvati tonight.” She shot a blinding grin back at the Ravenclaw boys – Anthony winking, Terry bowing, Michael fuming – and swept on without him.

“Dibs on Hannah,” said Seamus, grabbing her arm and twirling her as she giggled. “Maybe you can have Morag, Harry.”

“I wouldn’t be seen dead with any of you tossers,” said Morag, shoving her hands in her pockets and strolling off up the red carpet of doom, pausing only to flip off Rita Skeeter.

“I’ll walk up with you, Harry,” said Dean, and Harry smiled gratefully as they fitted their arms together. A muscle in Seamus’s jaw twitched. They made it up the carpet, Harry’s smile slowly turning into a homicidal grimace, passing Hermione and Parvati who seemed to be stopping at every single reporter and talking about their dresses.

Draco met them just inside the door, pressing a drink into both of their hands and a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Thanks for taking care of him, Thomas. Ron’s waiting out back – they’ve set up a VIP area for us. _With_ table service, thank Merlin. I wouldn’t wait at this bar for all the galleons in Gringotts.”

They made their way to the back, Hermione and Parvati close behind, to find Ron waiting at a table behind a rope with Pansy Parkinson who was – well. She was wearing what looked like a lacy bra, and a skirt so short that Harry had to do a double take, with a leather jacket over it that could give Morag’s closet a run for it’s money in terms of projecting “don’t fucking talk to me.” She caught sight of them arm in arm, looked censoriously at Draco, and finished her drink.

“Mate,” said Ron, enveloping him in a hug. Harry relaxed against him. The world was dark and confusing, everyone here was wearing the least possible amount of clothes and the music was far too loud, but at least there would always be Ron to hug.

“You’ve scrubbed up,” said Harry, taking in Ron as they pulled back. He was wearing a tight black shirt that actually fit him and showed off his new muscles. Had his shoulders always been this broad? God, his new found love of cock wasn’t going to start applying to _Ron,_ was it?

“I take full credit,” said Pansy. “Do you know how hard it is to get this one to dress properly? He has a hideous collection of Muggle t-shirts that I blame you entirely for, Potter.”

“I still think I could have pulled off that Chudley Cannons jumper,” said Ron.

“In that I would have _physically pulled it off you,”_ said Pansy, and then went bright red.

“Hello, Pansy,” said Harry. “You look – dressed.”

She curled her lip. “Really? I knew I should have taken this skirt up another inch.”

Harry privately thought that another inch would have made it a belt, but he decided not to say that. Which left them all standing around in silence, until Ron elbowed Pansy, who elbowed him back. The two had a very intense conversation that seemed to involve mostly eyebrows, winks (Ron’s) and scowls (all Pansy’s) until finally she sighed.

“Ugh, fine.” Pansy gave a theatrical groan. “Ok, Potter, Ron says that if I don’t apologise to you I’ll feel bad on my deathbed or something so here we go – I’m terribly sorry about that whole giving you to the dark lord business. And Granger – “ her voice softened. “I really am sorry about everything I said to you. I was a little bitch, and a bigot to boot, and I was trying to tear you down to build myself up. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” said Harry. “How come she gets the genuine apology and I don’t?”

“Because I’ve changed and grown, and I really wouldn’t say any of the stuff I said about Granger back in the day now. On the other hand, if someone walked up to me now and said “It’s the life of everyone in this room or Harry Potter,” I’d Kevadra you myself.”

“This is a fucking train wreck,” muttered Malfoy, which Harry thought was a bit rich considering these were his friends.

“Give me a cigarette,” he said, and Malfoy handed one to him with no argument, offering the lighter afterwards. He caught the way Ron’s eyes widened at the casual gesture of – of non-hatred. Yeah.

“Harry,” said Hermione. “You really shouldn’t.”

“You’ve smoked!”

She tossed her hair. “You know what they say, you should try everything once except for incest and morris dancing.”

Pansy laughed. “Bad luck, Draco. Better start morris dancing.”

“What?” said Hermione, her voice barely above a shriek.

“What Pansy here is trying to say,” said Draco, grinding his teeth, “is that everyone my mother has picked out for me to marry is my cousin, to some degree.”

“That’s terrible,” said Hermione. “Draco, you don’t – “

“What’s Morris dancing, then?” said Pansy loudly.

“It’s a thing Muggles do,” said Hermione. “They, uh, they blacken their face and wear clothes covered in rags and put bells around their ankles. And then they dance around with sticks. And they hit the sticks together.”

“Sometimes they put on plays,” said Harry.

Ron was gaping. “Bloody hell, Hermione, I thought you said the wizarding world was weird.”

Harry nudged Draco. “Maybe you should start doing that. Then no one would want to marry you ever.”

Draco sniffed imperiously. “I may be the world’s worst Malfoy, but I’m not _that_ keen on embarrassing my forefathers. If I wore something like that, I’d probably get haunted.”

“Never say never, Draco. I’ll find a way.”

“Potter, I will murder you, and as they drag me to Azka – to jail my only regret will be that I didn’t tell you to fuck off more.”

“I propose a wager,” said Pansy. Her eyes were glistening dangerously. “It’s nearly Halloween. Draco and Potter, drink off, and the person who wins gets to choose the other’s Halloween costume.”

“Absolutely not,” said Draco.

Harry grinned. “What’s the matter, Draco, scared of a little competition?”

“Mate,” said Ron, “I wouldn’t – “

But Draco was puffing himself up and gesturing threateningly at Harry with his drink. “Let’s lay down some ground rules. Shots only, Malfoy’s do not ‘chug’. We each take it in turns picking the spirit. You vomit, you’re out. You pass out, you’re out. You leave this table for any reason and you’re out, Potter, so take your loo break now.”

“I’ve already been, and I’ve got a bladder of iron.”

“You two are so fucking weird,” said Hermione fondly. Pansy, less fondly, hummed her agreement.

“Continuing,” said Draco, “we each get a second. You get three vetoes, and your second can take your shot for you in that case.”

“Fine,” said Harry, “but I pick Pansy.”

Draco looked outraged. “You can’t pick Pansy! She’s mine!”

“Oi,” said Ron. “Your two best friends here of seven years, went through hell for you, love you to bits?”

Harry patted his shoulder. “I love you too, but you both have constitutions of tissue.”

Draco looked between them all, appealingly. When no help came, he turned to Pansy. “Refuse him, Pans.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she said, swallowing her drink. “And I kind of want to see you fail.”

“Fine,” said Draco, before bellowing “Morag! Seamus!” into the crowd.

“ ‘M here,” said a very, very slurred voice, and then Seamus was stumbling towards them, being held upright by a giggling Hannah.

“How drunk are you?” said Draco.

“Less,” said Seamus. “This is Hannah, she has nice hair.”

Draco sighed. “So much for that iron Celtic constitution. Where’s Morag when you need her?”

“She pulled,” said Hannah. Despite the fact that she was more stable than Seamus, she was clearly only very slightly more sober. “Copping off with some American.”

“Fuck,” said Draco. “All right, Weasley, you’re with me. No offence, Granger.”

“None taken.” She raised her drink. “I refuse to be involved in this shitshow.”

“But you’re going to watch and laugh, right?” said Harry.

“Oh absolutely.” She blew him a kiss. Harry darted his eyes quickly at Ron, but he just looked amused.

Pansy left and returned startlingly quickly with a large tray covered in sixteen shot glasses, which was efficient if ambitious, each arranged in pairs. He studied them closely. The trick to beating alcohol was to get into its mind. Maybe. It was possible he’d had too much to drink at pres.

“Which one is tequila?”

“There are three,” said Pansy.

“I want the nicest one,” he said, and she plonked two shots of something black that smelt like coffee in front of him. He raised a toast to Draco and then tossed it back without waiting. Draco, looking irritated, did the same. It did not taste like coffee. It tasted a lot like petrol.

“Dear Merlin,” said Draco. His eyes were watering. “All right, so we started on a low note. Potter, you are clearly incapable of taste.”

“Blame Pansy!”

“I do every day,” he said, winking at her. She blew him a kiss. “All right, you horrific harridan. Which one’s whiskey?”

“There are – “

“The _nicest_ whiskey,” said Draco. Pansy gestured to two in the middle. The smell of it made Harry’s stomach want to rebel, but he was _not_ dressing up in whatever Draco picked out for him. He shot it back. God, if that was the nicest he was not prepared for the worst.

“You are evil,” he said to Parkinson. “Pure pure evil.”

She grinned at him with no mercy. “I know.”

“Dean,” said Seamus, latching onto him from behind. “My friend. Me old mucker. Me best mate.”

“Hello, Sea,” he said, wrapping a hand around his waist to keep Sea upright. He’d left Harry and Malfoy to the tender mercies of Pansy Parkinson, hoping to get a breath of fresh air. There was too much sexual tension there that he really didn’t want to probe.

And there had been Seamus with Hannah, but he wasn’t thinking about that.

“You look nice,” said Seamus, swaying a little. He’d wrapped both arms around Dean’s waist, pulling him in closer. It was almost like they were slow-dancing. Seamus’s eyes were blue-green and wild. “You always look nice. You pulling any girls tonight? Or boys? Don’t pull Blaise, though.”

“I think he’s a little bit distracted with Susan.” Though privately, Dean wasn’t sure how well that was going to go. Susan had seemed wary of Blaise’s attentions, barely touching the drinks he bought her and shying away when he moved closer. “I don’t get it,” she’d said to Dean, once Blaise had disappeared with the promise of fresh ice. “Normally by now he’d be chatting up a whole bunch of size-zero girls with names like ‘Kitty’ or ‘Jasmine’ and more horses than parental love. Why the blazes is he following me around all night?”

But that wasn’t Dean’s problem. He reached up and played with Sea’s curls, because they were drunk. Because it was ok when they were drunk. Always had been.

One night, eighth year, both the only ones in bed with a bottle of vodka between them. _I always get randy when I drink,_ Sea had said. _Do you? You randy, Dean?_

Seamus had been able to say those things. Dean had always been so careful.

_I might toss off. Are you going to?_

_Maybe._

_Might as well stay here, then. It’s just us._ Seamus’s hands undoing his fly, the pale curve of his cock. It had taken a long time, the alcohol turning it into a desperate slow crawl to orgasm. Some of Seamus’s come had landed on his hand and he’d licked it off, unseen.

“Good,” said the Seamus in the present. He was plastered along Dean’s front, which was dangerous. He was slightly hard from the memory and the proximity. “Come and dance with me. I’m a good dancer.”

“I know.”

He let himself be pulled through the crowd to a dark corner, let himself move as Seamus shuffled un-coordinated against him. Tried to let the music distract him from the way he was getting harder. The lights turned Seamus’s eyes alien, iridescent. The first thing he’d ever wanted to paint at Hogwarts was those eyes.

“I love you,” he said, knowing the music was too loud for him to ever be heard.

“What?”

“I said I’m drunk.”

“Me too.” Their faces were so close. “I can do anything when I’m drunk. I’m fucking untouchable when I’m drunk.”

Dean poked his cheek. Meant to. It turned into a caress. “I can touch you.”

“You do.” Foreheads pressed against each other. “Do you like it?”

“Like what?”

“Touching me.” Seamus’s tongue darted out, flicking against his lips. “Do you like touching me?”

“Seamus – “

“More than touching Harry? More than touching Blaise?”

“You don’t want to know,” said Dean, desperately. “You’re drunk. You don’t want to know.”

“Maybe I do.” Seamus’s eyes were fierce. “Maybe I fucking do, maybe I don’t care how wrong it is – “

Dean felt like he’d been punched. “Wrong?” he said, and pulled away just in time to see Susan slap Blaise as hard as she could and storm off.

Well. There was symmetry in the world.

Seamus laughed and pulled away from him. “Better go check that out, right?”

“Seamus – “

“Don’t worry – “

“Seamus.” Dean grabbed his shoulders. “I do. Because he’s my friend. That’s all. But stay here, ok? Please, don’t go anywhere. Please.”

Seamus was just looking at him. Dean held him harder. “Promise me, Seamus. Promise me we’ll talk about this when I come back.”

“Ok,” said Seamus, and that was all he needed. He pushed through the crowd and found Blaise up against the bar, his head in his hands.

“Well,” said Dean.

“I kissed her.”

“Oh.”

“She didn’t like it.”

“I could tell.”

“It’s not the first time a woman’s slapped me,” said Blaise. He seemed to be drawing himself back together. “Talisker, no ice. I’ll give her a bit of time to cool off. Try and talk to her again.”

“Don’t you think the slap was a pretty firm no?”

Blaise pursed his lips. “I just – I don’t _understand_ why she slapped me. I normally understand. Because I’ve kissed their sister or declined to get engaged or not succeeded in adequately shocking their parents. I’m not grabby, you understand. I’m a horrific arse, but not that kind of arse. We were slow-dancing, I moved in slowly, she had plenty of time to just say ‘thanks, Blaise, but I’m not really in the mood.’ This wasn’t a rejection this was – fuck, I don’t know. A histrionic attack.” He took his whiskey, drained the glass. “I’ll try her again later. Apologise. You’re a good man, Thomas. Go back to Seamus. It looked like something fun was happening.”

“If you’re sure you’re all right,” said Dean, but Blaise just waved him off. He made his way back to the dancefloor. He couldn’t see Seamus, but that was all right. He’d promised. He wouldn’t go back on that. He wasn’t in the part of the dancefloor he’d left him in, but maybe he’d just got pushed around by the dancers. He would be here. He had to be.

He’d done two rounds of the dancefloor and another two of the whole club before he acknowledged, like a hole to the heart, that Seamus was gone.

Harry took one sniff of the sambuca and had to hold his breath and count to ten before he spewed all over the table. “Nope. Pansy?”

“I’ve already done three for you,” she said. “You’re on your own, Potter.”

“Ron.” He held out the glass, pleadingly. Draco slapped his hand.

“Ron’s my second. Get your own. Oh, wait.”

Ron was clinging to the edge of the table, rocking back and forth. He’d done the last shot for Draco – something disgusting called a _Slippery Nipple._ Why on earth would a nipple be slippery? Harry never wanted to know. Maybe he’d ask Draco later. It certainly hadn’t _tasted_ like a nipple. Draco’s nipples were quite tasty.

“Did you mean to say that last bit out loud, Potter?” whispered Pansy, and he started. She cackled. “Don’t worry. You mutter terribly. Only I heard it, and my silence can be bought.”

“What are you terrible witches conspiring about?” demanded Draco. His face was very pinched. He looked a lot like young Draco, just then. Maybe he was going to tell his father about it. _Dear Father, Potter has talked me into a terrible drinking challenge, and I fear that he is cheating. Please send me three of your best house-elves to come and do my shots for me._ Harry giggled.

“I think Potter’s done,” said Pansy.

“I’m good!” He raised the shot to his lips, but made the mistake of inhaling before he drank. Nope. Not happening. He slammed it undrunk back onto the table, taking deep breaths.

Draco raised his arms in the air. “I am the champion! Pansy, mark this day – October the eighth – “

“The twenty-ninth,” said Ron.

“I have finally conquered Potter! I have achieved my lifelong dream! I can die a happy man now. Perhaps I’ll have a commemorative plate made up, with a picture of me drowning him in a vat of tequila – “

“You haven’t actually done the shot yet,” said Harry. “Technically it’s still a draw – “

Draco drained the glass, steadied himself and continued his crowing. “Write a letter to Macgonagall, tell her the Great Hall is going green. Finally, Slytherin has triumphed! Weasley, tell Shacklebolt I shall expect my medal in the mail. Granger, feel free to tell me how terribly handsome I am.”

“Please go to therapy,” said Hermione.

“I need a piss,” said Harry. “You can keep going until I come back.” He actually needed to throw up, but he wasn’t about to tell anyone that. Draco would probably inscribe it on a banner.

He was in the queue – maybe he could jump it, because he was a VIP? – when a hand slid around his waist.

“Hello,” said Draco, voice smoky against his ear. “Slipping away to lick your wounds?”

“Thinking of something else I’d rather lick.” He let his head fall backwards, trying to catch Draco’s mouth. Draco moved away, one hand squeezing Harry’s arse rather firmly as he did.

“Now, now, Potter, we’re in public. Don’t you remember what I said about not sullying my good name with the likes of you?” He winked, and Harry blinked against the tangle of hurt and confusion and horniness that exploded in his chest. “There’s a little alcove in the back of the garden. Just in case you find someone to take there. Theoretically.”

“Sure,” said Harry. There was a teasing lilt to Draco’s smile as he walked away. Was he being cruel? Or was he trying to be nice? Tell Harry that it was all right to go cop off with somebody else? He’d meant to tonight, hadn’t he? That’s what he’d told Blaise. There would be somebody else out there who gasped like that when touched them. Somebody else who called him _Potter_ when they fucked him in that sneering tone of voice that sent sparks right down his cock. Somebody else who sucked him harder when her curled his hands in their hair and called them _Malfoy –_ well, maybe not that one.

Why was Draco always making him feel confusing things? And why was it always when he was in the queue for the loo? You shouldn’t have big emotional realisations when you needed a piss. Or to throw up. A man could only deal with so many things at once.

He finally, finally got to throw up, and stumbled back out into the bathroom hoping that nobody was listening to him. He looked a mess. Thank god men didn’t wear make-up, because his would probably be smeared to shit right now. How did girls do it?

“Here,” said a calm and familiar voice, and then there was a cleaning charm slashing through his mouth. He wriggled his tongue, feeling minty fresh.

“Thanks, that was – Lee Jordan?”

Lee grinned. He’d filled out quite a bit, with a nice shoulder to hip ratio and long dreads down to the small of his back. He was also shirtless, something that Harry could appreciate quite a bit.

“Hey, Harry. You look rough.”

“Had a little drinking competition.”

“You win?”

“Nah. I guess I needed your commentary. Always spurred me on during matches.”

“Oh I could have done that. ‘Harry now, entering the zone, reaching for the schnapps. His fingers are trembling – will it make it to his mouth?’ Who against?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

“And you lost? Harry, man. I am officially revoking your Gryffindor card.”

“I’ve been a very bad Gryffindor, most of this year.”

“Why’s that?”

“Haven’t done anything brave.”

Lee smirked. “Want to do something brave now?”

Harry considered. Considered whether it was actually a come-on, or he was just drunk and projecting.

But fuck it, he was brave.

“I’m about to,” he said, and kissed him.

They made out in the bathroom, leaning against the sinks. Someone shouted something rude and Jordan hexed them without taking his mouth away from Harry’s neck. Everything was warm and nice and blurry. At one point he thought Blaise was talking to him, but he didn’t pay much attention. Maybe he should take Lee home, let him fuck him. Maybe –

“Potter, you’ve been ages, what are you – oh.”

There was Malfoy, standing in the doorway, looking very small and very pale. Harry felt a swoop of fear, then a surge of anger. What had he fucking expected, after pushing Harry away? How dare he stand there, shaking like the first day he’d seen him? How dare he look so broken? It wasn’t Harry’s fault. None of this was his fault.

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” said Lee. “You got something to say, you can say it to my fist.”

Draco’s face closed off, and with it the anger in Harry’s stomach was extinguished by a cold tide of terror. He had done something very wrong and broken something very precious, only he wasn’t sure what and how. They should have agreed to rules. They should have agreed to something, instead of leaving this nameless, shapeless thing to grow and shatter. Draco was gone, and Harry was shaking, shaking in Lee’s arms.

“You ok?” said Lee, but Harry didn’t hear him. Couldn’t, over the rising drum-beat in his head. _You fucked up, you fucked up._ There had to be some way to make this, whatever he’d done, ok. He thought of all those golden moments with Draco, the way they’d twined in bed afterwards and chatted about nothing. That couldn’t be over, could it? Not when Draco was the one who’d pushed him away. He’d pushed him away – and there was the anger, flying with the fear like two Seekers chasing a snitch around his stomach.

“I have to go,” he said, fleeing this bathroom. He looked like a lunatic. He probably was a lunatic, running after Draco again, Draco who didn’t want him. Just like sixth year, except this time he was even more lost.

He just had to find Draco. He could make this all right.

By the time she was on her seventh cocktail – this one called a _Baby Stripper –_ Hermione was pretty sure Parvati was just making up the names.

They’d lost the others, but it didn’t matter. You only needed one good friend to make a night, and Hermione had the best friend a girl could ask for. They leant against the bar, laughing when boys came up to dance with them until they walked away, confused. Terry and Anthony were there for a bit, buying them shots and dancing with each other when the girls refused to general hoots, but then they disappeared to find Luna, who was apparently also here. Luna herself appeared later, looking ethereal in a dress made of feathers, and hugged Hermione when she ended up having a long, rambling confession about how she hadn’t liked her through school.

“I’m so sorry,” said Hermione. She was pretty sure she was near crying, but in a nice way, a cathartic way that came from just loving everyone so much. “You’re so nice, and so brave, and I was really mean about all the things you believed.”

“That’s all right,” said Luna. She still sounded kind of airy, but mostly she just sounded drunk. “You should go and dance! You’re free now, Hermione. Everyone free should dance.”

“I don’t dance,” said Hermione, and Parvati got a wicked look and said “Is that so?”

She dragged Hermione onto the dancefloor, red dress against gold as she looped an arm round her waist. It was confusing and dark and she couldn’t dance, and then Parvati put her hands on her waist and suddenly she could. They moved against each other, red against gold. Hermione had a feeling she couldn’t place, and then she could. It was the same feeling she’d had when she and Harry and Ron had reunited after getting the Philosopher’s Stone. A sense that she was part of a set. Belonging.

She looked at Parvati’s dress against her own. The way Parvati had insisted they go together. It wasn’t about the dresses matching. It’s that they were here together, and not as an accident – more as a fact of nature.

She leaned up and whisper-yelled into Parvati’s ear. “I think you’re my best friend.”

Parvati laughed. “Don’t let Harry hear you say that.”

“He’s one thing. You’re – something new.”

Parvati’s legs were against hers. There was a warm thrum in her stomach, the same as when Anthony had – oh.

Oh.

She looked up at Parvati and had about ten different realisations at once. She could kiss her, right now, and it would be wonderful. Parvati’s lips would taste of bubblegum and smell of cherries, and her breath would be sweet from cocktails and bitter from vodka. Her hands – those careful, delicate hands that smoothed Hermione’s hair and brushed colour across her eyelids – would wrap themselves around her. They’d feel so good inside her. Parvati might put her mouth between her legs and smear that purple lipstick across her cunt. She wanted it, just as fiercely as she’d wanted Anthony and Ron. Wanted it more. Except –

Except there had been a million moments that Parvati could have made a move if she wanted to. She hadn’t. Because Hermione had strange teeth and an odd face and didn’t know how to talk to people. Because she debated too fiercely when they spoke about books. Because she was short and dumpy and she’d never been pretty for twenty-four consecutive hours.

But it might be worth it.

Just for one kiss.

Just as she stood there, frozen at the cusp of decision, she caught a pale flash from the corner of her eye. There was Ron watching her, mouth open. His hands were clenching limply by his sides. Ron, who she’d abandoned because she needed to find herself, who hadn’t deserved any of her tangled mess. She couldn’t do this to him, or herself. What had she thought, that going to university would un-Granger her? She would always be better at books than people, and everyone who wanted her now just wanted a phase she was going through. _Who are you, Hermione Granger? Have you decided on an all new version of yourself to pile on?_

“I’m sorry,” she said, pushing herself out of Parvati’s arms. “I need air. I think I’m drunk. I think – “ She pushed her way off the dancefloor, through the glittering bodies, until she found a side-exit. The shock of air was like a punch to the stomach. What had she been thinking? What had she nearly done?

“Hermione.” There was Ron behind her. “Hermione, I didn’t mean to – “

“I don’t care,” she said. “Whatever it is. I don’t. We’re through. I’m sorry, but we’re through.”

She apparated.

By the time the lights came on, Harry had to admit defeat. Draco was not anywhere in Eclectic. He apparated back to the edge of the Royal College, and half-jogged all the way to the dorm to find Nott smoking outside.

“Have you seen Draco?”

“I’m morally opposed to this shitshow,” said Nott, who seemed disinclined to say more. Harry ran inside to Draco’s room, knocking frantically on his door.

No answer.

He sat down miserably against it, putting his head in his hands. He was very much sober now, and really regretting it. Draco probably hadn’t even cared about him copping off with Jordan. He’d probably pulled himself. He’d looked a little pale in the bathroom, sure, but he always looked pale.

Or maybe – Draco hadn’t been invited. He hadn’t wanted to walk in front of the photographers. Everyone here had warmed to him, sure, but to the outside world he was still a Death Eater. Funny how easy that was to forget. He’d only agreed to go with Harry, hadn’t he? Maybe people had started being shitty to him, once he was on his own. Blaise had probably been busy with Susan, leaving Draco to wonder round being norman no-mates. He’d probably just got bored.

Then why wasn’t he _here?_

 _Because he’s fucking somebody else._ The thought was like poison, curling round his heart. Why did he care? Nice and friendly, just like Hermione had said. That’s what they’d been. That’s what Draco had been trying to tell him, when he called him _Potter._ Had he seen, long before Harry, just how much this was beginning to matter? Had he tried to warn him?

Eventually he pulled himself up, because crying in the hallway of a flat that wasn’t even his was all kinds of pathetic, and made his way upstairs. He found an assortment of his friends in the kitchen, all still drinking. Make-up mussed and shirtsleeves rolled up, a stain on Dean’s shirt, a lovebite on Morag’s neck. The carnage of a night out.

“Nightcap?” said Blaise, and “Please,” said Harry. Blaise was mixing the drinks, so at least he’d be drunk enough to go to sleep.

“How was everyone’s night?” said Harry, and received a ringing silence in response. Dean was staring out of the window, Terry and Anthony falling asleep on each other’s shoulders, Parvati fiddling with the strap of her dress. Morag glanced around and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, mine was fun,” she said. “God, you bloody English. Always in your feelings.”

“I’m half American,” said Anthony.

“Does _not_ fucking count.”

“It was a pretty good club,” said Blaise. “Weasley might really have something there. My night was – fine.”

“I saw Susan slap you,” said Terry.

“It was fine,” said Blaise firmly. “Susan was just – “

“Susan was just what?” And there she was in the doorway, eyes red. “Susan was pissed off at you, and rightfully so? Susan gave you exactly what you had coming?.”

Blaise scrambled to his feet. “I was just going to find you – “

“Sure you were. I’m sure that I absolutely destroyed your night. Those three dances you had with Gabrielle Delacour were probably just balm for your aching soul.”

“Merlin’s beard, Susan.” Blaise’s grip on the top of the chair was tight. “It was just a kiss. I’m not sure what you’re so upset about.”

She laughed. “Of course. Just a kiss. Just a pass. What’s wrong with that? You just wanted to see if you could have a go. After all, the night was half-over and you couldn’t go home alone. But here’s Susan, right? I know all about guys like you.”

“Guys like me? You have never met a guy like me. Not to sound my own horn, but I’m a bloody catch.”

“And I’m not, am I?”

“For fuck’s sake, Bones, I just don’t understand how you’re managing to be insulted by the fact that I’m interested.”

“Should I be flattered?”

“At my attentions? Darling, anyone would be.”

Morag drew a sharp breath.

“Well, thank god for that,” said Susan. Her voice was flat and narrow. “Thank god the great Blaise Zabini is deigning to fancy me.”

“Woman, you have lost me. I have no idea what you want from – “

Susan whirled around at Blaise, her eyes sparkling. “I want you to leave me alone, Blaise, because I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of you following me around everywhere, with this joke flirting and this over the top chivalry act. You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You think I haven’t had this before? Do you want to know how many times I got asked out as a joke? How many times I heard “Oi Susan, my mate fancies you” just to hear a chorus of ewws and giggles? You all think it’s funny, don’t you. Flirting with the fat girl. Oh, how sad, she thinks someone actually finds her attractive. Well, I’m not tolerating this bullshit anymore, and I haven’t fallen for it in a long time. I’ve spent my whole life wishing that each one was true, that maybe someone had bothered to look past their instinctive judgement that any woman over a size sixteen isn’t a person and discovered that I’m funny and intelligent and kind – and sexy, too, I’m hot as hell and I’m a lay and a half. I don’t need your jokes, Blaise, and I sure as hell don’t need your pity flirting. I do not need to be grateful for the scraps of attention the world gives me as some kind of charity for being fat. I’ll find someone who likes me for me, and if I don’t I’ll die alone happy as a clam and still loving myself. So you – you can fuck off.”

And she stormed away, leaving Blaise still clutching a tea cup and staring after her.

“You dramatically fucked up, mate,” said Harry, pouring a bit more vodka into his cup. “Calling yourself a catch? That was a pretty dick move.”

“It’s not like we’re any better,” said Terry. “That bit about yelling “oi, my mate fancies you”? I’m pretty sure I did that.”

“Fuck,” said Dean. “Morag, are we tools of the patriarchy?”

Morag raised an eyebrow. “You’re definitely tools.”

Blaise sat down, heavily. “People… I wasn’t trying to… I mean…” He put his head in his hands. “Oh, fuck. I just… I’m just used to people liking it when I talk like that.”

“So you were trying to be nice?” said Morag. “You should tell her that. Immediately following a heavy and grovelling apology, of course.”

“I was trying to charm her. I try and charm everyone. It’s just my thing. I’m charming.” There was a heavy silence. Blaise peeked out at them from a crack between his fingers. “I’m charming, right lads?”

“Sure,” said Dean.

“Slytherin girls love me. And Ravenclaw girls too. I even dated Katie Bell one summer. It’s just these bloody Hufflepuffs I can’t charm.”

“Morag’s a Ravenclaw and she doesn’t love you.”

“Morag’s a lesbian, Scottish and can hold her liquor, leaving her immune to my charm on all fronts.”

“You’re a lesbian?” said Harry. Morag raised an eyebrow and gestured at herself, from the half-shaved head to the combat boots.

“I rather fit the stereotype.”

“What’s being Scottish got to do with it?” said Terry.

“I’m irresistible to English girls because of my atmosphere of European sophistication. Scottish girls just think I sound like a twat.”

“Sensible nation, the Scottish,” said Dean. “What are you going to do about Susan?”

Blaise’s handsome face twisted miserably. “I don’t – I don’t know.”

There was a long, awkward pause, and then thankfully Hannah came into the kitchen.

“Hannah!” Harry jumped out of his seat and hugged her, which was possibly weird to do. Their only major interaction had been her wearing a Potter Stinks badge, after all. “What are you doing here? Sit down, have a drink – “

“Harry,” said Morag warningly.

“I was just getting a glass of water,” said Hannah. “I’m heading right back.” She giggled, and then stopped. She was dressed oddly, in a long shirt that definitely wasn’t hers and Puddlemere slippers. “I’ll, um – “

“Were you with Seamus?” Dean’s voice was odd. The room was silent. Hannah was looking between Harry and Dean, a little confused.

“Yeah? Sorry, were we loud? I’m not – um, I didn’t realise.”

Dean was up, stalking down the hall. Harry followed him – he had a doom-y feeling building inside him, and these feelings were rarely wrong.

“Dean – “

“Fuck off, Harry.” He hammered on Seamus’s door. “Oi, Seamus! Open up! Get out here!”

Harry looked back, to where Hannah was still standing in the kitchen. “I don’t think – “

“I said fuck off. Seamus, you cowardly wankstain, open your fucking door!”

“Dean.” Blaise was there. “You’re scaring Hannah.”

“Good. Sea!”

“It’s not her fault. I know you’re hurt, but she didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You rat-faced, yellow-bellied bastard, you really going to pick tonight to hide from me – “

“Dean.” Blaise grabbed him. Dean pulled away, but he held tight. “Stop it. Pull yourself together.”

“I don’t fucking want to be together. I want to punch someone in the face. Seamus!”

The door opened, just a crack. Harry saw a small, white face, and then it slammed shut again. Dean made another lunge for the door as it closed, but Blaise had him tight. They struggled together for a while, and then Dean just collapsed, shaking into Blaise’s arms.

Blaise looked apologetically at Harry. “I’ll get him to bed. You go calm down Hannah. The girl’s had quite a fright.”

“Sure,” said Harry. In the kitchen, Hannah was standing awkwardly at the edge of the group, looking close to tears.

“Is everything all right, Harry?”

“It’s fine,” he said. “You should probably go to bed, Hannah. I think everyone’s just a little drunk.”

“I left my card in his room,” she whispered. “I guess Seamus is asleep? I could go stay with Susan.”

“It’s all right,” said Terry, standing and taking her arm. “I’ll walk you to her room.” He guided her out gently. He was all right, Terry. Strange and old-fashioned, but with that came ideas about being a gentleman. It would be quite nice is Hermione picked him.

Morag snorted. “Is Seamus asleep? Straight girls can be so oblivious can’t they, Parvati?”

“Oi,” said Harry. “I’m sure Parvati’s not oblivious.”

Morag reached over and ruffled his hair. “Not what I meant, but it’s refreshing to see that you’re still the same post coming-out, Harry.”

And on that not-entirely reassuring note, they all retired to bed as dawn broke.

“We should go to bed,” said Hermione, passing the cigarette back to Malfoy.

“Sure,” he said. “We should go to bed. Want another drink?”

“Absolutely.”

“Accio beer,” he said, and the whole case came flying into his hands. “Well. That quickens things. I’m sorry about Pansy.”

“Why?”

He shot her a look. “You didn’t notice? With Ron?”

“What about Ron? I’m glad he’s friends with Pansy. I don’t care what he does with his life.”

“So what’s making you miserable?”

She shut her eyes and leant back on the dew-wet grass. “Do you remember when you apologised to me and I asked you if I was attractive?”

“I have tried so very, very hard to forget.” 

“I was worried that no one would ever really, really want me.”

“You have a Ravenclaw harem.”

“Yeah.” She tried, and failed, to blow a smoke ring. Dumbledore had made it look so easy. “Now I know I’m wanted in the way I wanted to be back then. And it feels kind of empty. They’ve all got an idea of me, and none of them just see me and know me like Ron did.”

“Weasley was your best friend for seven years. You’re not going to find something like that instantly.”

“I suppose. I don’t miss him. I just miss the way he loved me. Maybe thinking that I could always slip back into that, if I really wanted, was my safety blanket. Maybe I wasn’t really being brave at all.”

Draco rested his head on her shoulder. “It’s wonderful, being loved. Love to have that happen someday.”

“Harry.”

“You’re not supposed to know about that. And I’m just a fuck, didn’t you know? Harry’s just working out his sexuality. I’m not bitter.” He cracked his can and pushed himself upwards to drink. “I don’t want anything else either. I wanted a friendship, and now I have sex, which I also want. So really, my cup overfloweth.”

“You can have both. Sex and friendship.”

“That’s called a relationship.”

“Do you want both?”

“Don’t ask me complicated questions when I’m drunk.” He groaned and moved closer. “Why are we drinking together again?”

“I don’t know. I’m still not sure I don’t hate you. No, I don’t hate you. When did that change?”

“I started shagging Potter,” said Draco, nodding wisely. “And his personality vastly improved, and your gratitude overwhelmed your good sense.”

“It’s the loneliness,” said Hermione. “We’re both lonely.”

“Don’t be clever when you’re drunk, Granger, it’s unfair to the rest of us.”

“But you are, aren’t you?”

“Merlin, fine. Yes, I’m lonely. You’re lonely.” He was looking at her closely now. “We’re both very lonely.”

Later, she could never say who kissed who first. There was a lot of teeth, and a lot of tongue, and it was yearning and desperate and overall completely terrible. They pulled back, and Hermione held her breath.

“I’m gay,” said Draco. “When you asked me why I would never date you, that first day. I’m gay.”

Hermione exhaled. “I didn’t run away because I saw Ron with Pansy. I ran away because Ron saw me with Parvati.”

“Ah.” Draco giggled, and then began to laugh.

“What?”

“So you’re, you’re – you like girls now?”

“Yes, and? You like men! And I think it’s strange that we’re still called girls when you’re all men now – Draco, why are you laughing?”

Draco was laughing so hard he had actual tears in his eyes. “First Ginny, and now this. Are – are you telling me that the only women that the men of the Golden Trio dated immediately came out as lesbians after this – “

“Draco, I’m bi, and that’s not how sexuality works – “

“Hermione, I know, but please don’t ruin this for me. Sometimes, you just have to let your inner fifteen year old out.”

She lay on the grass and started to giggle too, both of them laughing and laughing until they wore themselves out. The drink and the kiss and the exhaustion were combining into a soft numbness that was the next best thing to actually feeling good.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Draco, wiping his eyes. “Ok, so you and Parvati. Were you copping off?”

“No? But I think we were pretty close. Maybe I’m just imagining it. I don’t exactly know how female friendships are supposed to work. Maybe all girls get that close with their friends?”

“Not qualified to answer that one, I’m afraid.”

“And even if she was, she had a thing with Lavender – fuck, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“I knew,” said Draco. “Everyone with eyes knew.”

“Ok, good. Wait, no. Whatever. Anyway, Lavender was always so pretty and polished and put together. She used three different perfumes, did you know? Applied in three different ways. And I’m – “ She gestured at herself.

Draco rolled over so he was on his front, looking down at her. “Granger. I wasn’t lying that day. You are beautiful. You just got a gay man to kiss you, come on.”

“Yes, but that was the terrifying loneliness, not anything to do with me. And tonight I’m all made-up and wearing some glorious dress from Padma that I’ve probably ruined. Of course someone might want me tonight. But she – she looks this good every day. Her hair is like actual silk. She doesn’t wear eyeliner, you know. Her eyes just look like that.”

“She does, she’s just a liar.” Draco put a hand on her shoulder. “Listen. You are beautiful. You are clever. You are kind. You could deserve a girl like that.”

She closed her eyes. “We should go to bed.”

“I know,” he said, and they didn’t.

The first thought Draco had when he woke up in the morning was that he needed to take stock of his life.

He had gone to university with three clear goals. Firstly, to piss off his father by proving that he didn’t need the Malfoy money to succeed. Secondly, to dazzle his instructors with his legal prowess enough that they might agree to help him find a job once university was other, thus allowing him to live on his own and therefore piss off his father. Thirdly, to actually attempt to redeem himself and start a new life, pissing off his father in the process.

Screwing Potter achieved none of those things. It was interfering with his studies, if the public ever found out about it they would doubtlessly hunt him down and execute him, and while it might piss off his father he wasn’t quite prepared to do _that_ to his reputation. He’d been easily distracted, and had allowed that distraction to blind him to some harsh realities. Of course Potter hadn’t asked him on a date. They were – they _had been –_ simply fucking. Potter was simply experimenting with his sexuality, and Draco was someone he didn’t care about and could therefore fuck with.

The thought made his chest unexpectedly tight.

He showered quickly, dressed himself in a nice pair of robes. It was only Sunday, but he’d been allowing his standards to slip. Padding round the flat in just his pyjamas, thinking of it all as his _home,_ getting comfy with his flatmates. They all barely tolerated him, anyway. Probably they had only been showing him kindness because Potter seemed to favour him. Probably they were all out there in the kitchen right now, laughing at him for thinking that anyone would ever look at him and _care –_

That way lay madness.

He’d wasted his _best tie pin_ on Potter. Who had he become?

It was time to do what Blaise had suggested at the start of term, and ignore Potter completely. He opened the door, ready to face a brave new world, and found Potter _right there._

He looked sleep-rumpled and hungover and pitiful. Eyes that green should be illegal.

“Draco, hey, I tried to find you – “

“Sorry, gotta run.” He pushed past him, trying to make it look like he was in a hurry rather than fleeing. “Lectures, you know?”

“It’s a Sunday,” said Harry, but he was ignored.

Unfortunately for him, Potter kept on popping up everywhere. For the next _two weeks._ He even sent a Patronus up to him the night of Halloween, asking Draco what his costume should be, and Draco couldn’t even bloody send one back. He had to stick his head out the door and ask Granger to tell Potter he could wear _whatever,_ he wasn’t sick enough to collect on the bet.

“I’ll tell him,” she said, her eyes very wide. “But Malfoy, I think you should talk to him. He really wants to – “

“Ta very much, Granger, have fun tonight!” He was always running away from people these days, it seemed. He had been invited to the Halloween party upstairs, which surprised him, but he knew Potter would be there being drunk and open and fuckable. He kept being invited to pub nights too, which surprised him. What surprised him more was how much he wanted to go. It wasn’t even about Potter. He’d just become – surprisingly – used to people.

“I hate it,” he said to Finnegan, who was apparently avoiding Thomas again. There was less open shunning going on, and more a bewildered sense of what-the-fuckery that followed the two of them about after Thomas’s little breakdown. Luckily, it meant that Draco still had someone to drink with who wouldn’t invite Harry bloody Potter. “I was under house arrest for a year. How the _fuck_ am I not used to being lonely?”

“Dunno,” said Finnegan. “Can’t imagine you ever having much of a social life, with your sparkling personality. What are you mad at Harry for again?”

“Don’t know, why aren’t you speaking to Thomas?”

“Steady on. Look, you were pretty good to me when I was ostracized, and you had no bloody reason to, so I’m going to give you advice even though I think you’re being a wanker again. You should just talk to Harry. You miss him, you miss everyone, just say whatever will get you through this weirdness and go back to being everyone’s friend.”

“Is that what you did, with your first apology to Thomas?”

“Pretty much.”

“Still a homophobic fuck, then?”

Finnegan scowled into his drink. “I don’t want to believe all that shite. I don’t – not in my head, I don’t. You ever just repeat something so much that even when you know it’s not true, it’s still inside you?”

“Yes. Shockingly, I do know a little about bigotry. You unlearn this stuff. It takes time, but you get there eventually. Your friends know you’re working on it.”

“But Draco, how does that make me better than you? Wait, I mean, not that – “

“It’s fine. And for one thing, you said a few shitty comments, you didn’t try and aid a genocidal maniac into taking over the world.”

“You’re a pretty solid bloke, considering you did that.”

“Cheers, Seamus. You’re a pretty solid bloke, considering you’re Irish.”

“Draco!” Harry said the next day, springing out of the bushes (?) outside his law lecture. “I’ve been looking for you for the past week, I just wanted to – “

“Wait for Hermione? I think she’s just finishing up,” said Draco, and fled before latch onto him.

“You’re in a right snit,” said Pansy over Sunday tea, who was herself in a right snit. Apparently Weasley had stopped dancing with her and bolted out of the club as soon as he saw Granger leave, which any fool could have seen coming. He said as much, and she threw a scone at him.

“Like you’re one to fucking talk about falling for Gryffindors you can never have,” she snarled.

“I didn’t fall for him!” Draco yelled at her retreating back. “I’m just – he’s always there!”

Unfortunately, always there _didn’t_ just mean Potter’s persistent stalking, which he’d apparently gotten better at since Sixth Year. It also meant in Draco’s mind. His dreams were uncomfortable prickly things, Potter sitting on his cock and whispering _Sectumsempra_ at his chest, Potter touching him in the hallways of the Manor while Draco tried to warn him about Nagini but he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t. Potter pressing kisses to his neck, Potter falling into Feindfyre beneath him. The days were better, but not by much – Draco would be innocently trying to eat a salad and suddenly there would be Potter in his head, whispering _Don’t you want to come, Malfoy?_ as he tugged on his balls. He’d go out with Blaise and start chatting to some extremely handsome stranger, and suddenly they’d tug on their hair and he’d think _Potter was always doing that, no wonder it was such a bird’s nest,_ or they’d stretch a little and it would look like the movement Potter made after getting fucked, and he wouldn’t be able to follow through.

“I hate it, Blaise,” said Draco, after yet another embarrassing failure to pull. “I can’t – I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like I’m bloody Greengrass or something, mooning over my crush.”

“Greengrass had a crush on you.”

“Exactly,” said Draco. “It was foul. Anyway, it was – I can’t sleep, Blaise. I can’t eat. I can’t listen to music anymore. I keep on trying to go to bars and find someone else, but it’s like all men are ruined for me now.”

“Can’t sleep, can’t eat, every song reminds you of him,” said Blaise, checking them off on his fingers. “You know, Draco, those are pretty common symptoms of – of something.”

“Oh god, I’m going mad aren’t I? Madness runs in the Black family, you know. Mother always worried about me. Is that what it is, Blaise? You can tell me, you know. I can take it.”

“I take back everything bad I ever said about Pansy,” said Blaise, rubbing his temples.

Two weeks into his slow descent into insanity, Draco sat up in bed in the middle of the night from a dream where Potter had sliced off his left arm and thought _Potter never talked about my Mark without me bringing it up._

They had fucked a dozen times. It wasn’t like he left his shirt on in bed. Potter had seen it, and hadn’t cared. Hadn’t even commented. Like it was nothing. He already knew, he’d factored it into all his calculations, and he just hadn’t given a damn.

Like he just wanted Draco.

“Oh god,” he whispered. His mind fluttered back through every interaction like a slideshow. _Click._ There he was, running his hands through Potter’s hair as he laughingly told him the full story of the Polyjuice incident. _Bulstrode’s cat? Really? That cat had a hideous temper. Are you sure that Granger didn’t end up with some of it’s temperament?_

 _Click._ There he was on his knees, Potter fucking into his mouth. _Malfoy. Open up for me. There’s a good boy._ And him hard as fuck, moaning as Harry just took him, just took what he wanted. Thinking about how lucky it was that he got to see this, how lucky he’d been if his whole shit-waste of a life ended up with him here on the bedroom floor making Harry come.

 _Click._ There was Harry, walking back from a lecture with Granger next to him fussing over something the lecturer had said, how he was totally wrong and that kind of thinking was _dangerous._ Harry had shot him a look over Granger’s head, fond and amused, and Draco had smiled back as if they were the kind of people who did that, stood together and laughed at the rest of the world.

All these pictures, whirling in his head, building to an impossible picture.

“No,” he said. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I refuse. _No._ ”

“I have a terrible secret,” said Draco, pacing in front of the assembled Council of Slytherins who had gathered in Pansy’s flat. “And I need you not to hate me for it. You’re probably going to hate me a little bit, and I’m sorry, but there’s nothing really I can do about it. Oh god, wait, I can’t tell you. It’s too terrible.”

“Is it murder?” said Pansy. “Because you know I’d cover that up for you, love.”

“Bet he shagged a chimera,” said Goyle. “I knew a bloke who did that once.”

Theo wrinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting, Goyle.”

“What did he do about the snake tail?” said Blaise, with far too much interest.

“Said it added to the thrill,” said Goyle.”

Draco flung up his arms. “Could we please focus on my secret?”

“The terrible secret that you can’t tell us?” said Pansy. She was painting her nails, the harridan.

“That one, yes. Look, this will come as a shock to you. It came as a shock to me. It’s pretty much – well, a complete reversal of everything I’ve ever – “

“I kind of need a piss,” said Goyle. “Will you still be going when I come back or should I hold it?”

“Fine!” said Draco. He tugged at his hair. Better out than in. “I have – I have fallen in love with Harry Potter.”

There was a terrible beat of silence. And then Pansy whirled on Blaise. “You said you told him!”

Blaise flung his arms wide. “I thought I did!”

“Since third year, right?” said Greg brightly.

“For fuck’s sake, Greg.” He put his head in his hands. His friends were awful. “No, not since third year, that was back when I still hated him. Since – since – “ When had it been since? He couldn’t really pinpoint a start date. “Since two weeks ago, probably. And what did you mean, you thought you told me?”

“That’s what our conversation was about the other day,” said Blaise. “Remember, can’t sleep, can’t eat?”

“We thought you’d had a moment of self-actualisation,” piped in Pansy. “We were all very excited. And anyway, Greg’s wrong, not since third year.”

“Thank you, that’s what I was saying – “

“Since second year, I’d say,” she said. “After the whole duelling club fiasco. Admittedly, I didn’t realise that’s what it was till fourth year – “

“I’d say earlier,” mused Blaise. “Maybe at first sight? Something electric passed between them, for sure."

Draco flung up his hands. Again. Oh god, he _was_ inheriting the Black family madness. “Would you please listen to me. I was not in love with Harry Potter at school!”

“Yeah you were, mate,” said Goyle, very slowly. “That’s the secret you just told us.”

“You’re not following, Greg – “

“No, darling, you’re not following.” Pansy jabbed a finger at him. “You’ve been in love with Harry Potter for years. You just noticed it two weeks ago. May I ask what bought this sudden realisation on?”

“He’s been having sex with Potter,” said Blaise. “Don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret that only everybody in our bloody flat block knows.”

Goyle eyed him thoughtfully. “Yeah. You always did strike me as a screamer, Draco. Not – not that I ever thought about it. No offence. I like birds.”

“So – “ He felt like he’d just been struck with a large battleaxe. “So none of you hate me for my shameful Gryffindor fling?”

“I kind of hate you,” said Theo. “But I’ve had many years to come to terms with it.”

“I _knew_ about the sex, it’s not that,” said Pansy. “Is this because your date went badly?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“You said it was a date.”

“I may have made a slight miscalculation.”

“Does this sudden flush of love mean you’re going to start talking to him again instead of generally running around like a lunatic?” said Blaise, examining himself in the mirror. “Also, does anyone think my hairlines beginning to recede?”

“You’re deservedly losing your looks after falling for a Hufflepuff,” said Pansy.

“I’m not acting like a lunatic,” said Draco. “I’m repressing my feelings, like a good Slytherin. I’ll figure a way out of this, somehow.”

“I can’t believe I’m the only Slytherin success story,” muttered Theo. “My father might even be slightly less disappointed in me.”

“Rest in piss,” said Blaise, crossing himself.

“You’re in a sham engagement to a woman who’s sleeping with half of London,” said Pansy.

“Cool,” said Greg. “That means I win, right?”

Unfortunately for Draco, love seemed to have left him in kind of a daze, so he didn’t make his escape in time when Potter dropped into the chair opposite him in the library.

“So,” said Harry – god, when was he going to stop occasionally fucking up and using the gits first name? – “I think I’ve worked out why you’ve been avoiding me.”

“You have?” said Draco, slightly strangled. Oh god. He was going to have to drop out of university, and that meant he was going to be destitute, and then he was going to _die._ Maybe he could still marry Astoria Greengrass. He could picture Potter naked in exquisite detail if he was required to seal the deal. He was penniless, true, but she hated her sister _just_ enough to do anything to be married before her.

“It’s because I’d forgotten how to be a good friend,” said Harry. He was looking very earnest. Hysterical laughter would probably not be an appropriate response.

“Um,” said Draco. “Yes, you have. Absolutely terrible breeding, Potter. Why don’t you go over how.”

Harry sighed. “I realised afterwards at the club that I’d basically thrown you over to cop off with someone. I think with all the – the – “ He lowered his voice in a way that was _far_ more attention grabbing than simply saying ‘shagging’ – “With the _you know what,_ I’d forgotten that we were actually friends. I wouldn’t have treated Hermione like that, and I guess I got so distracted by the extras that I forgot to treat you as a person first. So I’m sorry. I don’t know if you managed to find anyone else to hang out with, but I know with Blaise distracted with Susan and Pansy drinking with Ron it must have been a bit shit on your own. Thought Nott was there – what _was_ Nott doing?”

“I don’t know, and I never want to.” He tried to focus on his books. _You love him, love him, love him_ said a sing-song voice in his head. It sounded like Pansy. He should have demanded to be placed in Hufflepuff. They didn’t have these kind of problems. “It’s fine, honestly.”

“It’s not,” said Harry. “I know that you’ve got reason to be a bit sensitive about these things lately. I just wish you’d come to me and told me the truth.”

“Yes. Next time I have feelings, I will definitely tell you all about them.” God, when had he become such a horrible liar?

Harry reached out and covered Draco’s hand with his own. Was it possible that Potter knew all about his horrible secret feelings and was, in fact, a secret sadist? He probably did. God, Granger had probably told him. She was too clever for her own good. Maybe he should reconcile with his parents just so he could buy her silence. How much would clothes for every house elf in Britain cost?

Harry interrupted his mental calculation by brushing his thumb over Draco’s pinky. God, _hands._ Theo was a useless art gay who mostly spoke in incomprehensible riddles, but Draco was getting it then. “So does this mean you’ll stop avoiding me and start coming out with everyone again? If it helps, it’s all dead awkward all the time now. Blaise has started talking about poetry with Michael, and I think Parvati’s going to hex one of them soon.”

“Fine,” said Draco, because Potter’s eyes were ridiculous and probably a war crime. “I will come, on the condition that if anyone tries to read their poetry to me I get to Crucio them while you look the other way.”

Harry’s grin was upsetting on so, so many levels. “Brill. I’ve got to Ron – I mean run. I’m meeting Ron. I don’t have to Ron. Anyway, I should – I’ll see you around, yeah? Maybe tomorrow.”

Draco refused to watch him go, as a point of principle. He was an adult man who could survive a few awkward encounters and a broken heart without turning into a teenage girl.

Somewhere out there, his father was probably fucking laughing.


	3. The King of Wishful Thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Remember when I was posting this! Well it turns out that writing 30000 words in one night is actually a sign of an impending mental breakdown. All better now! 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> Anyway, this chapter requires a trigger warning for sexual assault. I have not tagged this fic rape/non-con because the actual act doesn't occur, and nothing happens 'on screen.' But this chapter does contain a description of someone using manipulation and emotional coercion to force someone into sex. As you've probably gathered if you're still reading this story, it's based heavily on my own uni years, and this issue was so prevalent and common that it just wove itself into the story. 
> 
> There's also a scene of violence, and Seamus is still not being his best self. 
> 
> Finally, this chapter might be a little shorter than the others, and the next one will be too. They were initially one super chapter, but it got so long that I felt they needed to be split up.

“I have a problem, mate.”

Harry looked up. Ron had summoned Harry for a drink at the Three Broomsticks with an air of urgency and then – well, proceeded to act like a lunatic, downing his first three pints with almost manic energy, talking a mile a minute about auror stuff and asking Harry far too many questions about things he didn’t care about.

“Ok,” he said carefully. An anxious Ron was a little like a Hippogriff - best to approach with extreme caution. “What’s it about?”

“It’s about Parkinson.”

Harry made a face. “Ugh, really?”

“Could you not?” Ron slammed his pint down with force.

“What?”

“Don’t just – don’t just ‘ugh, Parkinson’ her, ok? I mean, you’re mates with Blaise Zabini, and you’re getting on with fucking Malfoy now, and he was actually a Death Eater which Pansy wasn’t, thank you very much. I mean, is it really too much to imagine she’s changed too?”

“No, I mean, yes, I mean I’m sure she has. I’m sorry.” He raises his hands placatingly. “Remember how you’re doing that new thing where you use your words instead of bottling up your emotions forever and releasing them in a storm of rage?”

Ron deflated. “Sorry Harry. It’s just, I really like her face, you know?” Harry had to physically restrain himself from saying the word ‘Pugface’, but Ron must have seen it. “I know she’s not, like, ‘pretty’ or whatever, but she’s better than that. It’s an interesting face.”

“Right. Interesting face. Got it.”

“And she’s really mean, but it’s funny.”

“I kind of get that,” said Harry, thinking of – Nope! He refused to think about Draco in the library, or his careful hands stilled on the page of his book. Hands were surprisingly erotic things. Or maybe that was just Draco. Did he have nice hands? Draco had seemed to like them, but maybe that was just when he used them – and that way lay madness. It was the Mirror of Erised all over again. Looking at the thing you wanted, just out of reach.

“And she does so much to shock people, you know?” Ron was saying. “And she used to do it to me, too – I mean, she still does, kind of – but now when she wears microskirts and see through tops or makes a joke about the Dark Lord or whatever, she’ll give me this look like she knows I’m in on it. It makes me feel – I dunno. Like I’m smarter than I am or something.”

“You are smart, Ron,” said Harry. “And I’m sure she’s great. So what’s the problem?”

Ron sighed. “Well, she’s dating sodding Malfoy, isn’t she?”

Harry stared at him. Ron stared back.

“Have I got something on my face?” said Ron.

“Malfoy’s not dating Pansy.”

“He’s not?”

“Pretty sure. Definitely sure.”

“How do you know?”

Harry opened his mouth, remembered that telling Ron that Malfoy had sucked his dick would probably lead to Ron’s untimely death, and shut it again.

“I think – I think – “

Come on. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, he could think of a great lie. Sure, he’d had a bad run recently, but he could do it now. The trick was just to act natural.

“I think he’s into Hermione?”

Or, or he could say something so blindingly stupid that it actually astonished him that he didn’t drop dead on the spot, having used up his last two brain cells coming up with that.

Ron was gaping at him. Harry tried to drink as much of his pint as he could without making it look like he was steeling himself.

“Hermione – no,” said Ron. “She wouldn’t. No. Right? Not that I care but. No. No.”

“Exactly,” said Harry. “She’s very much not into him. So it’s all ok. Nothing to worry about here.”

“Argh, but – they are in the same flat, right?” Ron was tugging his hair now, bent low over the table. “What if - I don’t know, they end up drunk and she’s just feeling a bit sad and he’s there and – no. No.” He made to stand up, and then sat down heavily. “Ok, I’ll see her at Christmas, right? I’ll have a good long talk with her. Ask her what the bloody hell she thinks she’s up to.”

“Ron, I really, really, really don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Harry, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. “I think that may be one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had. Anyway – woo hoo, Pansy’s free, right?”

“We have to do something,” said Ron. “I mean, can you imagine what a disaster it would be if she started dating Malfoy? We’d have to be nice to him for the rest of our lives, Harry. Every Christmas, he’d be there at the burrow, poking at the food and asking if this is how poor people eat.”

Harry thought of the mountains of food Molly Weasley provided every Christmas, and wondered how on earth duck-fat roasted potatoes could ever be seen as a sign of poverty.

“Maybe they’d want to have Christmas by themselves,” he said.

Ron gasped. “Oh god, you’re right. I hadn’t even thought about that. It just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?”

It did indeed. “Look, Hermione’s a big girl. And she’s seeing Anthony Goldstein, anyway.”

“The Ravenclaw?” Ron bit his lip. “Well. It’s good that she ended up with someone as smart as she is.”

There was a lot in that statement that Harry didn’t think he had time to unpack. “Uh, it’s just sex. I think. And she might be seeing Terry Boot too.”

“Ah hah!” Ron pointed a finger at him. “So she could end up seeing Malfoy as well! The slimy cock. I bet he’s got loads of plans to find her at a vulnerable moment and strike. You know him. I bet he goes all smooth when he’s got his eye on someone.”

“Sure,” said Harry. “Uh, yeah. I guess. Maybe.”

 _You’re unbearable,_ Draco had said, as they rolled in bed together. _What I would do for a timeturner to go back and tell my sixteen year old self about this. He’d probably throw himself in the lake and save me a lot of mess. Are you going to fuck me or what?_

Hermione had survived her first real heartbreak, hadn’t she? And it wasn’t a heartbreak, it was just – the best sex of his life, and an unexpected friendship, and then both of those things had just stopped. At least he had the friendship back.

They hadn’t said they were stopping. Draco had just been pissed at him. Maybe he could - ?

“Mate,” he said, interrupting another future catastrophe that Ron was painting in exquisite detail, “if you were shagging someone, and then they stopped because they were pissed off at you, and then you made up, could you start shagging them again? Hypothetically?”

“Um,” said Ron. “Who’s this about?”

“It’s a hypothetical,” said Harry. “Just thinking. Throwing out some theories.”

Ron squinted at him, dubious. “About Hermione?”

“No! No. Just might start dating again, that’s all.”

“Riiight. Well, I’d probably let them make the first move. See how they feel.”

“What if they never make it?”

“Are you sure this is a hypothetical?” said Ron.

“Uh huh,” said Harry, and wondered if, just maybe, he should fling himself from the top of the ministry.

November was a time of stress and deadlines and throwing herself back into all the extra-curriculars that Hermione hadn’t had time for what with the boys and the Parvati of it all. Not that she wasn’t still finding time for her friends. Probably.

“Are you still alive?” said Parvati, opening the door to her room. Hermione straightened out from behind a pile of books, trying to look less like some kind of dirty study goblin who’d been hunched over for seven hours.

“Um,” she said.

“Jesus,” said Parvati, wrinkling her nose. “Have you built a nest? Is that – you have seven cups of tea balanced on stacks of books. Are any of them hot?”

“They keep getting cold,” she said, in a small voice.

“Hermione, you are a _witch_.”

The truth was, it had become unexpectedly hard to spend time with Parvati after realising that she was possibly, maybe, a little bit into her. It wasn’t like Hermione had just suddenly noticed she was gorgeous. It was just that previously, when she’d plastered herself to Parvati’s side and told her that her hair smelt good, it had the safe cover of female friendship. Oh god, she’d probably been really annoying, hadn’t she? Practically following her around, worshipping her wherever she went, gushing over every book she recommended –

“Am I annoying?” she blurted out.

“No,” said Parvati, kneeling down and pushing her way through the books. “Are you going to hurt me if I disturb your nest? You just look like you really need a hug.”

“I do,” she whispered, and let herself sink into the unique torment of Parvati’s embrace.

But she was still a good friend, so she made sure to check in with Harry, who was continuing to be annoying about Malfoy, though in a new, fun way. ‘Fun’ here being used in it’s lesser used meaning as a synonym for ‘excruciating’.

“We keep studying together,” he said miserably into his third cup of tea. Hermione, who had had so many cappuccinos she was about to find, if not God, at least some minor deity, nodded along. “But we also keep inviting Blaise and Seamus to hang out with us at the same time. Like we need some sort of chaperone.”

“Maybe – stop doing that?” she suggested gently. Harry’s look made her wonder if her tone had not been as gentle as she thought.

“I can’t, Hermione! Then I’ll be alone with him, and what if he tries to talk about us?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Harry’s face crumpled. “I don’t know. What if he wants to talk about how it’s all been a horrible mistake? What if he starts talking about dating someone else?”

“Do you not want him to date someone else?”

“Of course I do. I want him to be happy. I just – I deserve to be happy, don’t I?”

“Of course.”

He stared at her in despair. “Then why am I so miserable all the time?”

Realising her feelings for Parvati also meant that she needed to break it off with the Ravenclaw har- the three nice young men she’d been dating, who she _refused_ to use such a derogatory term for. Michael would undeniably go worst, so she started with him.

“Michael,” she said, in tones that she hoped came across as adult and mature. She had cornered him on a pub night. “I know that we’ve been – seeing each other.”

He took her hand. “Hermione. Sweetheart. I know exactly what you’re going to say?”

“You do?” She wondered whether to be pissed off at his use of sweetheart. Eh. There were bigger battles.

“I do. And I want you to know, I feel the same way.”

“Oh.” She almost laughed. “Oh, thank god. Wait, am I obvious?”

He smiled indulgently. “Perhaps a little. That’s all right. I find it charming.”

“Oh, no.” She tore her hand from his grip to bury her face in it. “Does everyone know?”

“Well, not everyone. I imagine Anthony and Terry will be a little disappointed to find out.”

“I mean, I’m planning to break it to them gently,” she said. “I was just so worried about this talk, you know?”

“I know.” He smiled, and cupped her cheek. “I can be a man who’s hard to read. But rest assured, I feel exactly the same as you.”

“You do? Oh good – “

“We’ll be great – “

“Because I was so worried about doing the _it’s not you, it’s me_ dance – “

“ – Togeth – sorry, what did you say?”

“Just, I’ve never had to end things with someone I was only seeing casually before. I wasn’t sure how much was too much, you know? I want to treat this with the appropriate gravitas, but not too much gravitas, otherwise I’m essentially implying that you were far more into me than you were – but you beat me too it, and honestly I’m so glad, there’s so much more for us to explore – “

“Right,” he said, removing his hand from her cheek. “Yes. So much more.”

“Exactly. I mean, who wants to get tied into relationship in the first term of university?”

“Not you, apparently,” he said.

“I’m so glad you understand.”

“I’ve been thinking of dating Susan Bones, actually.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “But – Blaise?”

“Well, she shot him down in flames,” he said. “So I imagine she’s looking for a better calibre of person.”

“What do you mean by – “

“Sorry, Hermione,” he said, checking his watch-less left wrist. “I really must dash.”

“All right,” she said to the empty air he’d been in, pleased that that had gone so well.

She wasn’t exactly friends with either Susan or Blaise. Still, Susan had joined her and Parvati on many a study session, and Hermione felt it was important to pre-empt any awkwardness.

“You know, Susan,” she said one night, once she’d been able to tear herself away from watching Parvati head to get more wine. “What I’m going to say might sound awfully presumptuous, but I just want to head off any potential awkwardness.”

“Don’t sweat it,” said Susan. “If you want me to leave, I get it. I mean, about bloody time.”

Hermione blinked. “Why – why would I want you to leave?”

Susan flushed bright red. “You want me to stay? Hermione – “

“Of course,” said Hermione. “We love your insights.”

“My… insights.” Susan was turning red. “Well, I’m actually not sure I’m really qualified to –“

“Of course you are! I think you have a lot of expertise.”

“Did Hannah say something about fifth year? Because that was a dare –“

“Hannah? No, I meant because of your previous experience interning in the Wizengemot.”

“Aubrey can be a boys name too!”

Hermione pulled up short. “Yes, I know. Wait, what are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” said Susan, who was now approaching purple.

“Michael,” said Hermione, trying to keep her voice gentle and friendly.

“Michael.”

“Yes, Michael Corner. He’s told me he wants to ask you out, and I know that sometimes there’s a patriarchal assumption that girls are territorial over men they’ve previously dated, and I just wanted you to know that I wouldn’t be like that.”

“Huh.”

“I’m not going to say anything like ‘I would be all right if you dated,’ because that presumes that you would _need_ my blessing in some way. I just want to avoid an uncomfortable situation.”

“Yep,” said Susan. “Yeah, you’ve definitely avoided that.”

“What’s up?” said Parvati. “We’re out of Chardonnay, or any white, or any wine really, so I’ve stolen a bottle of apple sours. Dean will be too embarrassed about owning it to ask who took it.”

“Hermione has dumped Michael Corner,” said Susan, still bright red. “We’re avoiding an awkward situation.”

“Oh.” Parvati’s hand holding the bottle fumbled, and she caught it loosely. “Are you – committing to Terry or Anthony then?”

“No, I think I’m just done with men for a bit,” said Hermione. Fuck. That was possibly _too_ on the nose.

“Right, of course,” said Parvati, as the apple sours lost the fight with gravity.

She waited another week before ending things with Terry. Luckily, he was a Ravenclaw and therefore far too deep in his studies to ask her on a date. She used the limited time in between to catch up with Draco, who was, a little tentatively, a friend. Or at the very least, friend-adjacent.

“I’m not going to talk about Harry,” he said, when she gently approached him outside a lecture and invited him for a coffee.

She blinked. “If I wanted to talk about Harry, I’d talk to Harry.” This was, of course, a bald-faced lie. If she wanted to talk about Draco in excruciating detail, she would go to Harry. She imagined the same was true in reverse. She was proved right, of course. In a sense. Draco spent the entire coffee date talking about how he was _not_ talking about Harry.

“I assume that Potter tells you everything,” he said as they sat down, “so I see no need to fill you in on the details.”

She got the details anyway. The details being that Draco was extremely fine with how things had ended with Potter, and just adored the way that he and Potter were now in sexless friendship, and he just loved spending time with Blaise and Seamus. He wasn’t thinking about Harry at all, except that he was, all the time, but that was fine. It was probably just something called the _Black family madness_ coursing through his veins. But overall, he wanted less Potter in his life, and therefore wasn’t talking about him.

“It’s so typical of Potter,” he said, as he was winding up his monologue. “Invading every corner of my brain, when he hasn’t been remotely invited.”

“But you two are friends again.”

“Yes,” he said. “But that’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

He peered at her. “Hermione, when was the last time you slept?”

“Thursday, why?”

“Because it’s Saturday,” he said, “and you’re normally a little more intuitive than this. Not a lot, and the general level of oddness hasn’t changed, but normally you’d be being all perceptive.”

“I’m perceptive. I’ve noticed that you’ve grown your hair out. It looks nice.”

“Yes, you’re a master detective,” he muttered. “Anyway, how’s your sad gay love story?”

“Fine,” she said, firmly. It was absolutely not fine.

“So, you’re done with men,” said Parvati over cocktails.

“Yep,” said Hermione, trying not to blush. “I just think I need to focus on my studies.” It was technically true.

“I get it,” said Parvati, nodding. “Things can only be casual for so long. I reckon Michael was going to ask you to pick him soon.”

“Really? We actually ended it mutually.”

“So, got your eye on anyone new – “

“Nope!” she squeaked. Ugh. “No,” she tried again, in a lower tone of voice. Too low. Now she sounded like she was growling at her. “No, I haven’t.”

Something flickered across Parvati’s face. “Convincing.”

“There’s one person,” she admitted, because she was drunk and stupid. “But I don’t – I can’t talk about it.”

“Why not?” said Parvati. Hermione just downed her drink in answer. “Oh. Is it serious?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I think so.”

“Well,” said Parvati. She was carefully not looking at her. “That – that calls for shots, I think.” And she disappeared back to the bar, and didn’t raise the subject again.

She took the next day off to study, and then met up with Terry after lectures for a coffee to politely end things with him.

“I’m sorry,” she said once she had finished, but he shook his head and smiled gamely.

“Don’t sweat it, my dear. Our time together was ephemeral, but it only added to it’s beauty. I’m always available for platonic swing dancing, if you need a partner.”

The last time they’d gone dancing, Hermione had trodden on his toes eight times and broken another dancer’s nose.

“I’d love that,” she said, before a bright idea struck her. “Though if you have another dancing friend, perhaps we could bring Luna along? She told me everything free should dance once, so she’s probably love being thrown in the air.”

“Lovegood?” said Terry. “Sure.” He looked dubious, but he’d come around. Hermione left the coffee shop feeling like her good deed for the day had been done.

“I’d make a fantastic match-maker,” she said to Blaise, when they were waiting for a pint at the next pub night.

He hummed noncommittally. “Forgive me, Granger, but I find myself tired of talk of love these days.”

She followed his line of sight to wear Susan was talking to Michael. “Oh, Blaise. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s occurring to me that after a lifetime of being trained in the ways of social artifice, the one thing I am unprepared for is – Well. Mother would be furious if she knew how I was acting.”

“What’s wrong with how you’re acting? Mostly it seems to just involve a lot of staring and occasionally sighing.”

“ _That_ what’s wrong. I’m behaving like a love-sick fool who – “ He broke off. “Fuck. Granger, you’re a sensible girl. Is there an – an – anti-amortentia? Asking for a friend.”

She blinked. “Well, there was some experimentation into this in the 1860’s, when – “

“Yes or no answer, please.”

“No. Sorry.”

“Well, I suppose I can always just set myself on fire,” he said, and strode away from the bar, leaving her to pay for his hideously expensive whiskey.

“Hey,” said Parvati, grabbing her hand. She was swaying slightly. “Come dance with me.”

“I’m not – “

“Come onnnnnnn. It will be just like Eclectic, remember? Wasn’t that fun? We looked good together.”

If she were a better, stronger person she would have pulled away. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. The dancefloor was shitty and tiny and far too light for her to feel comfortable dancing, but she did it anyway. Let herself be wrapped up in Parvati, hands skimming each other’s hips. Let their legs tangle together. When she looked up, Anthony’s eyes were on her.

She found him the next evening, smoking on the patch of grass outside their dorms with Theo. The sun was setting, and the weather chilly, but they’d created a bubble of warming charms around the two of them that had her tugging at her cardigan.

“Hermione,” said Anthony. He was looking at her again, cool yet friendly. “What an unexpected delight this is.”

Theo was looking between the two of them, scowling. “I’ll just be off then,” he said, but Anthony grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t. I don’t think this will take long. Nice and friendly, right?” he said, and his voice was so warm and open and honest she could have wept. “We’ll still be friends.”

She nodded, and he patted the grass. “Come sit with us. We’re doing drugs.”

“Don’t tell Granger,” said Theo, his eyes darting quick and scared across her.

“You’re right, Nott,” she said, rolling her eyes as she sat. “Let me just pop up to Scotland quickly and grab Macgonagall. Fifty points from Slytherin.”

Theo sneered, but in a way that looked marginally more friendly. “God, don’t. One-time Snape caught us in the Astronomy tower. He took ten points away each for the drugs and thirty each for not ‘properly ensuring the quality of our ingredients.’”

Anthony covered his face. “It was oregano, wasn’t it?”

“ _Parsley,”_ said Theo, with such bewildered disgust that Hermione howled with laughter.

She did end up smoking some weed, because she was possibly a lesbian now and also a fucking war hero who could do what she liked. Theo was very funny when pushed out of his shell by Anthony’s gentle encouragement, and just as nerdy as the two of them. They sank back into the grass, discussing magical theories that made less and less sense as time went on and the drugs got to them.

“It’s the – it's the fucking _loops_ of it all,” Hermione was saying, hands waving above her. Theo and Athony were braiding flowers into her hair as the sun went down. “The, uh, the – Anthony?”

“The folds. Right? Wait, are we talking about arithmancy or alchemy?”

“I don’t think you’re talking about either,” said Theo. “Go on, Granger. Tell us about the loops.”

It was getting dark, but the warming charms were keeping them all toasty. She leant back into Anthony’s hands and saw Theo doing the same, settling against the opposite shoulder.

“ I think it’s nice that you two are friends,” she said. “We’re all friends now. That’s so – so – “

“Nice?” said Anthony.

Down below them, two figures were coming up towards the flats. There was Michael, with Susan hanging from his arm. Their date must have gone well. She felt a pang for poor Blaise.

“You’re a Ravenclaw,” said Theo. “You should have a better vocabulary than that.”

“Enchanting,” said Anthony, threading a hand through Theo’s with mock-earnestness. “Delightful. Delicious.”

“I’ll show you delicious,” muttered Theo, blushing.

Susan was wobbling as she walked. No – not walked. She was being dragged by Michael, and that arm around her was looking more like a choke hold.

“Somethings not right,” said Hermione.

Anthony looked up and followed her eyes. “Is that Susan? She looks wasted.”

“She doesn’t get wasted,” she said, and then she was off down the hill towards them.

Michael was hunched over Susan in a way that was wrong. He was whispering something in her ear, and she was shaking with bleary eyes.

“Hi,” said Hermione, skidding to a stop in front of them. “Is everything all right?”

“We were just-“

“I was asking Susan,” she said, not sparing Michael a look. “Not you.”

“Bones.” There was Nott. “Look at me. Do you know where you are?”

“Of course she does,” Michael snapped. “We’re just going back to her room for a nightcap. Why don’t you stay out here and suck on your sour grapes, Granger.”

“I think Susan probably doesn’t need a nightcap.” There was Anthony, face resolute. “Why don’t you sit outside with us and have some fresh air?”

“Is that what you want, Bones?” Theo’s voice was calm and soothing. “I think that sounds nice, don’t you?”

There was something gluing Hermione to the spot. It was rage. White hot molten fury that welded her feet to the floor in Michael’s path.

“What the fuck are you trying to do, Corner,” she said.

There was a moment where he seemed caught – the pleasant, polite mask on his face trembled. And then it fell away. His lip curled with feral hunger. His eyes darkened. Before there had been Michael, her friend, confused as to what was going on. Now she could see what was underneath, and it was hatred.

“I’m trying to have a successful date, you used up whore, so back off.”

“It looks more like a date-rape, are you fucking serious –“

“Granger,” said Nott. “Not right now. Bones, whatever you want to do is fine with us.”

Susan was still trembling. “I don’t know,” she whispered, words slurred, but she let go of Michael when Nott gently pulled at her and let herself be peeled away.

Michael made an aborted lunge for her, but Anthony stopped him with a hand. “Go to bed, Corner.”

Michael was realising the extent of his mistake now. He glanced between Anthony and Nott, face pleading. “Oh come on, seriously? You’re going to act like I’m some kind of monster just because I –“

“The only reason I am not breaking your nose right now is because you’re my friend,” said Anthony. “And because I want to believe that you’ll regret this. Leave. Now.”

Michael looked at him, then Hermione, lip curling back. “What a waste,” he muttered.

When he was gone, they all stood in a circle around Susan. Hermione felt whited out, blank. Depleted of everything except her anger.

“Call Hannah,” she said between gritted teeth. “I don’t think I can cast a patronus right now.”

“That’ll have to be you, I’m afraid,” said Theo, but she didn’t hear Anthony’s reply. She had thrown herself around Susan’s neck and was holding on too tight to move.

Harry had said _please_ and _thank you_ so much over the last two hours that it was beginning to make his teeth ache.

It was all “Could you pass this book, please,” and “do you understand – oh, you don’t? Me neither. Thanks anyway.” Blaise sighed every time he turned a page. Seamus had retreated deep into his anger and would huff every time Blaise sighed. The whole thing was a feedback loop of misery. And in the middle of all of this was Draco and him, trying to catch each other’s eye and then looking away.

Susan was on a date with Michael right now, which meant Blaise’s sighs were 20% more despondent. Harry had started to work out a system for them.

He just missed Draco so much, which didn’t make sense. He was right _here_ and he still missed him. Not even the sex – well, no, he missed the sex but that wasn’t it. He missed Draco’s mean comments about his hair. He missed Draco’s histrionics, the way he turned his feelings into an unbelievable drama to try and undercut their sincerity. He missed laughing with him about something, and then turning his face towards Draco’s and catching them with the same look in their eyes – _do we really have this? Did we almost miss this?_

The trick was just to hang on. To dig his nails into this friendship and refuse to let go through all the pain and hardship. Eventually things had to get better. They had to. It was actively impossible to be this miserable for his entire life.

He pictured just grabbing Draco’s face and saying _Stop it, just let me back in. I’m sorry, I won’t throw it away again. I won’t._

“Do you have the Morton book?” said Draco.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

“No worries.”

“Jesus wept,” said Blaise. “Come on, Seamus. Coffee run.”

“Fuck off.”

“You know I’m not actually sleeping with Thomas, right?”

Seamus scowled. “Don’t give a shit if you are. What did you think I was going to do, turn up mid-shag and start howling at your door like a werewolf?”

“Well, you’re half-feral anyway - “

Draco slammed his book shut. “For god’s sake, Blaise, have you really not learnt your lesson about saying the first thing that comes to mind?”

“But they’re always so funny - “

“Blaise.”

Blaise’s glare was mutinous. “Are _you_ really giving me life advice?”

“Yes,” snapped Draco, “and think about what that says about the depths to which you’ve sunk.”

“Any idea what they’re on about?” said Seamus.

“Nah,” said Harry. “I imagine the Slytherin common room was just like this all the time. Everyone being cryptic and repressed until you’re not even sure what you’re fighting about.”

“And the Gryffindor common room was different how, exactly?” said Draco.

“We mostly knew why we were angry,” said Harry.

There was a beat, and then the corner of Draco’s mouth wobbled. He started giggling, trying to push it down with a hand over his mouth, and Harry laughed far too loudly for a library. 

“Merlin,” said Blaise, “I almost miss the days you were trying to kill each other. Finnegan, I am insisting on that coffee run now. The café’s three flights down, so who knows? You might find an opportune moment to push me down the stairs.”

Seamus huffed again but did follow Blaise, which left Harry with Draco. Who was looking at him – actually looking at him for the first time in a month.

“I think they’re giving as time to - “ Draco’s mouth pursed over the word - “ _talk_.”

“Those bastards.”

“Exactly my feelings. Could you pass me the - “

“Draco, just - “ He reached out, tangled his fingers over Draco’s. “We could, you know. Talk.”

“Sounds horrible. Have you been speaking to Granger again? That woman is an unmitigated menace, and she doesn’t have a leg to stand on. Honestly - “

“Draco - “

“You can’t!” His voice cracked. He stared at Harry with boiling anguish. “Please, Harry. This friendship with you – it's one of – I wake up in the mornings and I roll out of bed and see the face of a horrible rotten bastard in the mirror, and I want to die. But then I think _Oh, Harry will want to talk to me today_ and it gives me the tiniest sliver of hope that I can actually change. So you can’t push me on this, please. My dignity is currently held together with threads, and if you ask me - if you – You don’t have a clue about what I’m on about, do you?”

“No,” said Harry, “but I won’t push you. Not if you don’t want me to. And – for what it’s worth, every day I get to see you is a good one, too. I wish we’d stop being so fucking polite to each other, but that’s just the way it goes, I guess.”

Draco sniffled. “I can go back to being horribly rude if you want.”

“Is it weird that I actually kind of do?”

That earned him a smile. “Literally nothing surprises me about you anymore. You are the strangest man I have ever met.”

“Really? I’m the strangest man you’ve ever met? What about you?”

“You went to the funeral of a giant spider at the tender age of twelve!”

“You had a ranking system for your favourite ghosts in your _house!”_

“That was practical, I had to warn guests that Great Aunt Leatitia was horrible - “

“Hey,” there was Seamus, balancing three coffees. “Blaise had to run back to halls, apparently something bad has happened to Susan. Harry, Hermione’s involved too.”

“Let’s all go,” sighed Draco, pulling his hands away from Harry’s. “I’m sure we’ll all be involved anyway. Was Corner a horrible date?”

“Something like that,” said Seamus. “I didn’t see the note. He just told me to get you for Hermione and then sprinted off.”

“Blaise sprinted?” said Harry.

“Gracefully, or -?” said Draco.

“Looking like a new-born giraffe,” said Seamus.

They all looked at each other.

“Well, fuck,” said Draco.

“I’m probably over-reacting,” Susan said, lying on her bed. “I mean, it’s kind of my fault.”

Parvati laced her hand through Hermione’s. She gripped it and kept her mouth shut.

“It’s just – he kept on buying the drinks. And when I said I didn’t want one, he’d tell me I was a pretty poor date if I would make him drink alone. But he was having beer and I was having cocktails so – I shouldn’t have gotten that drunk, that’s all.”

“He got you drunk on purpose,” said Parvati, her voice so low it was almost a whisper.

“And then – when he asked me to come back to his room and I said that I didn’t want to have sex, he got so offended. Kept asking me why I would assume that he was after that. And then he said – he asked me if I’d never been on a date before. He said the nightcap was kind of traditional. He seemed like – he was implying I’d be rude if I didn’t go with him. And he’s just Michael, right? He’s our mate. And he was right, I’d never –“ She turned her face to the wall. “And then on the walk back, he started saying all this stuff. Asking me if I liked it when he spoke like that. I just felt like I couldn’t back out once I’d agreed. Whenever I pulled away he told me to calm down and stop being so anxious. Anyway, it wasn’t – it wasn’t a _thing._ I reckon if I actually said no, he would have stopped.”

“But you did say no,” said Parvati. “And he made you feel like shit for it.”

Hannah was folded around Susan, stroking her hair. Morag was facing the door, twirling her wand as if expecting someone to come through it any minute.

“We can talk to the uni,” said Hermione. “Get him kicked out.”

Susan gave a sad little laugh. “And say what? That he said some dirty things on a date with me? Nothing happened.”

“He took advantage of you,” she said, pressing forward. Parvati’s hand was tight on hers, the other resting on the small of her back. “He made you vulnerable.”

“But she’s right,” said Hannah. “I know you go full throttle at anything Hermione, but he didn’t commit a crime. There’s nothing we can do.”

“I looked at the university code of conduct. The regulations around – this kind of thing are vaguely worded enough that we could –“

“Stop,” said Hannah. “Just stop, ok? We get it, you saved the world. Jesus.”

“I’m trying to help!”

“Leave her, Hannah,” said Susan. “Hermione, the regulations are vaguely worded to protect men like him. You wouldn’t get it. If you’d been in my position, you’d have slapped his face off before the first drink.”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t need to make me feel better –“

“It’s _not true._ Cormac McLaggen. He wouldn’t let me go back to my dorm without a goodbye kiss, and then he kept saying each kiss didn’t count, that it hadn’t done it properly. He was backing me against the wall. I kept kissing him till he let me go. I didn’t want to do the wrong thing.”

She kept her eyes down. Her voice was shaking. “They just – they just _do_ this. It doesn’t matter how strong we are. It’s not about that.”

“Wayne Lightfoot, when I first came out,” said Morag, her voice a low growl. “Gave me a long speech about how much he fancied me. He started tearing up. Asked me to just kiss him once, to give him closure. I felt like I was hurting him if I didn’t.”

“He used to undo Padma’s bra through her shirt and tell her to take a joke,” said Parvati. “And Michael tried it on with her, too. We all just let it slide, because we were sixteen and didn’t realise that it wasn’t ok.”

“Thank you,” whispered Susan. She was still staring at her hands.

“We’re going to figure something out, ok?” Hannah pulled her in closer

The door burst open. There was Blaise, looking desperate, wrecked. “Susan, I – Are you – Oh, love.”

Susan’s face shivered, held, then broke. She held out her arms, and Blaise rushed to her, kneeling at the edge of the bed.

“That cowardly little cur,” he said into her hair. “That - that – we'll destroy him, Bones. I promise.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “Fuck him, Blaise. I’m just so glad you’re here.”

Anthony was all right in Harry’s book, because he took one look at Hermione once they’d all left Susan to sleep and said “I’ll put the kettle on. Harry, you make sure Hermione’s all right.”

“I’ll come too,” said Draco, and he busied himself around Hermione’s room, shaking out blankets and lighting candles and plumping pillows while Harry sat on the floor with Hermione and held her hand. After a while Parvati came in, and the two of them curled up together on the bed.

Harry left them to it, and took the tea that Anthony offered him. Then it was just him and Draco, leaning on either side of Hermione’s door.

“That was too many feelings in far too short a time,” said Draco.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Might go and sit in my room and emotionally numb myself again. You?”

“I’m going to read a book on Warding Law and feel absolutely nothing.”

They smiled at each other, soft and exhausted and sad.

“Go to bed, Harry,” muttered Draco, and he did.

Or rather, he went to sit in his room. There was a book open in front of him, but he didn’t know what it was and honestly didn’t care. The streetlights were switching off outside. It must be late. He wanted a cigarette. He wanted a drink. He wanted to beat Michael Corner bloody with his bare hands. He wanted Draco.

There was a frantic hammering on the door. Harry looked at his watch. It was one in the morning, which meant that this was either Hermione coming to have another mental breakdown, or Draco – no. He clamped down on that hard. It wouldn’t be Draco.

It was Blaise, dressed in all black and his face murderously blank. “Get your coat, Potter, you’re coming with me.”

Harry considered asking questions, but decided against it. For one, Blaise looked terrifying, and for another, leaping before he looked was kind of his thing, and following very angry people who woke him up late at night for secret missions had always turned out roughly ok for him. He followed Blaise, a few steps behind him, as they stalked silently through campus and then out of the university grounds.

Blaise whirled around suddenly. “Harry, do you care about Susan?”

“No!” said Harry, images flashing across his vision of Blaise luring away his rivals in love and then burying them in shallow graves. He couldn’t die here. It would be a shit place to be a ghost. “I mean, yes, I care about her, but I’m not, like, into her – “

“Not what I’m asking. I’m asking if you’d be prepared to protect her?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Blaise grabbed his arm. “We were never here, you understand? You and I passed the night delightfully studying alone in our respective rooms.”

“I don’t – “ said Harry, and then they apparated.

They arrived at a dingy street corner, disturbing a couple who were very clearly about five seconds away from shagging. They scattered after a harsh look from Blaise. Harry thought about asking questions, but Blaise was tugging him along, through the alleyways and into a dark doorway that turned out to be the back entrance of a bar. A really, really dodgy bar. Not that Harry had much basis for comparison, but a place this grimy and miserable only attracted customers who valued discretion on the part of the staff above clean tables and nice beer.

“Who are we looking for?” he whispered.

“Stay quiet,” muttered Blaise, moving swiftly. There was Michael Corner, sitting at a sad table at the back alone and downing what looked to be his third whiskey.

“Blaise,” muttered Harry, but Blaise shh’d him.

“Just follow my lead, all right?”

He stalked towards Michael’s table, full of murderous intent that suddenly switched to convivial bonhomie when Michael looked up.

“Corner! Come to lick your wounds? Thought you might want some company.”

“Blaise?” Michael was blinking blearily. “How did you find me?”

“Find you? My dear boy, the only thing me and young Potter over here were looking for was some debauchery. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Harry. “Love to, you know. Get drunk and wild.”

Blaise was settling next to Michael on the bench, throwing one arm round his shoulders and Harry, who privately thought he might have been having a stroke, took the chair opposite.

“Garçon! A bottle of your finest wine, sil vous plait. None for Potter,” he added in a stage whisper to Michael. “Between you and me, he’s absolutely sauced. Needs a bit of a break. Not like he’d appreciate it, anyway. His palate is positively pagan.”

“I assumed as such,” said Michael.

“You, on the other hand – well, it’s nice to raise the tone of the conversation, if you know what I mean. And I hear we have something in common now. Ah, thank you monseuir,” he said, as a ratty looking bottle and three glasses appeared on the table. He set about filling the glasses – only two. “Corner, a toast. To life, love and the pursuit of better things!”

He raised his glass and drank, and Michael did the same. And then Blaise held his eyes and kept drinking, and Michael did too until he was struggling with gulp and turning redder and redder under Blaise’s calmly assessing. He put the glass down with a gasp.

“Something in common?”

“Ah yes,” said Blaise, pouring again. “A certain Hufflepuff ice queen. Another!” And he repeated the whole show again, Michael copying, struggling and spluttering by the time he came back up.

“You mean – “ a wet cough – “Susan?”

“The very one. Well done on nearly sealing the deal, old boy. She does make things hard, doesn’t she? I suppose you heard about her little fit of dramatics at Eclectic. What’s the world coming to, when a man can’t make a simple pass without being treated like a monster?”

“It’s that fucking Granger,” spat Michael, and Harry would have leapt up if it hadn’t been for the warning press of Blaise’s foot against his leg. “Treats everything like a moral crusade.” He downed another glass of wine when Blaise handed it to him with considerably more ease. “All those bitches, twittering together about how awful I am. And Anthony letting Granger ride rough-shod over him, because he’s too cunt-struck to think for himself.”

“You have my deepest sympathies,” said Blaise. “What happened, if I might ask? I’ve only heard one side of the story, and I can’t imagine it’s accurate. Have some more wine!”

“Thank you, Zabini! I mean, there’s two sides to every story, you know? No one’s interested in my side. It’s all oh, he’s a man, he must be evil.”

“There, there,” said Blaise, refilling Michael’s glass. He tipped the bottle to his own, but nothing came out. Harry caught his quick wink over the glass. “Tell us all about it.”

So Michael did. And he drank. He told them that Susan had been a frightfully dull conversationalist as he finished off the bottle. He told them that she was acting far too picky for someone with a body like that as Blaise called for more whiskeys. He told them that he’d been a perfect gentleman all night, and it wasn’t his fault she didn’t appreciate that as she should, while Blaise nodded and made soothing sounds and announced that that called for a round of shots. He told them, over and over, that he’d only been trying to be nice, that she was probably a fucking virgin anyway. And he drank, and drank and drank while Blaise smiled darkly and poured his own drinks away when Michael wasn’t looking.

“Look,” said Blaise, leaning over. “I’ve got a baggy of something in my pocket that might just help you relax. Why don’t we head outside, have a little and then send Potter home while we scout for some more receptive beauties?”

“Sounds great,” slurred Corner. “I’ll just - “ He tried to step out from the bench, and nearly tripped over, steadied only by Blaise’s hand on his back.

“We’ll only be a minute,” said Blaise, as he steered Michael towards the back exit. “Potter, hold the table for us.” He bent low, dropping to a whisper. “Meet me outside in ten minutes.”

Harry waited, and drank Blaise’s wine because he needed it. He felt like ripping Michael’s face off his skull. Was that too violent?

“This is such a bad idea,” he said out loud, and then went outside.

Blaise was leaning against a wall with Michael. No, that wasn’t right. He was holding Michael upright. Michael was giggling hysterically, in a way that was harsh with hysteria.

“Oh.” He gulped as he looked at Harry. “Hello, Potter, come to help us out?”

“He has indeed,” said Blaise with a grin, and punched Michael in the stomach.

Michael went down like a stone. Harry had his wand out instantly, trying to work out whether to point it at Blaise or Michael. Blaise was stepping away from the wall, hands in his pockets. He casually kicked Michael in the side.

“What’s - happening,” Michael chocked.

“Well,” said Blaise idly. “I’ve gotten you drunk and been a perfect gentleman. I suppose it’s time for us to have sex now.”

“I don’t - I don’t - “

“Oh, relax. I’m not that kind of monster.” He was staring into space, musing idly as the tip of his boot traced Michael’s spine. “No, I think I’m just going to Crucio you instead.”

“Please, please don’t - “

“Oh, stop struggling. Potter here will only body-bind you if you do.”

Michael tried to push himself up to his knees, but Blaise’s foot only pressed down. “You won’t get away with this.”

“Oh won’t I. Potter, how many husbands has my mother had?”

“Eight,” said Harry, keeping his wand trained on Michael.

“And how many have died under mysterious circumstances?”

“I’m guessing a lot?”

“A lot indeed. Seven, to be exact. And how many years has my mother spent in prison? You can chime in too if you know the answer, Corner.”

“That would be none,” said Harry, when it seemed clear that Michael wasn’t going to respond.

“Ding ding ding! He really is smarter than he looks, Corner. And much handier with a wand. After all, he killed Voldemort. I can’t imagine he would have much difficulty killing you.”

“Uh, actually - “

“Don’t worry, Potter, there’s no need for murder today. This is just a friendly chat about Michael’s future at university, right?” He kicked Michael onto his side. “You have two options, Michael. Option one, you are going to tell the university that you have come down with Dragon Pox, and immediately leave to stay with your family while they nurse your back to health. While you’re there, you’ll have a sudden realisation about your future and put every possible second of your time into transferring somewhere that is _not_ the Royal College. Personally, I’m a big fan of overseas study. Broadens the mind.”

“Fuck you,” said Michael, and Blaise stamped on his leg hard. Something cracked, and Michael howled.

“I was so afraid you’d say that. Well, that leaves us with option two. In this, you stay at the Royal College for a few more weeks with everyone absolutely loathing you. Over the Christmas holidays I will go and visit my mother in Italy. While there, we’ll stop off at a lovely little place we know in Venice. It’s one of her favourite shops. And when I come back, you will have a cup of tea or a pint of beer or a plate of toast, something you’ve prepared yourself, something you’re sure no one could have tampered with. And then you will tragically drop dead of a heart attack. It’s such a tragedy when these things happen to the young. Don’t you agree, Potter?”

“Just awful,” said Harry. “We’ll miss you.”

“Harry,” said Michael. “Please, we’re friends. You can’t do this.”

“That’s funny. I don’t really remember us being friends. I don’t think I like you very much, actually.”

“So,” said Blaise. He was smiling. “Which is it going to be, Michael? Drop out of university for a while, or an unfortunate accident?”

“You mad bastard, you can’t think I - “ He was cut off by a scream, as Blaise pressed his foot back down on his broken knee.

“No one is coming to save you, Michael,” said Blaise. “It’s Knockturn. You could howl all night. Shall we find out if you can do that?”

“I’m sorry,” said Michael, whimpering. “I’ll drop out, I’ll transfer, I promise - “

“Hmm. I’m not sure I believe you. Do you believe him, Potter?”

“Best to make sure,” said Harry, and Blaise finally drew his wand and threw a stinging jinx across Michael’s back.

“Those can scar, you know,” said Harry mildly as Michael blubbered beneath them.

“Such a shame,” said Blaise. “Well, Corner, if you promise me that you’ll disappear I suppose I’ll have to take your word as a gentleman.”

“I promise,” said Michael. “Please, I promise - “

“All right, then. Fuck off, now.”

“I can’t walk - “

“Ahh.” Blaise’s smile was sickening. “But you can crawl.”

Michael was off, pulling himself along with his hands as he struggled to keep his knee elevated. Harry stood next to Blaise and watched him vanish round the corner. His heart was beating wildly. He turned to talk, but Blaise was grabbing his hand and apparating them.

They sprinted across the grounds, heads low and wands covered. Harry followed Blaise into his room, slamming the door behind him and leaning against it like Michael might burst through any second.

“What the fuck was that,” he said. “Seriously, Zabini, that was insane. You’re insane.”

“That’s why I called you,” said Blaise, doubled over and panting. “I thought to myself ‘who’s most likely to be down to commit a violent crime?’ and you came instantly to mind.”

“Fair. Are you all right?”

“No,” said Blaise. He started to pace back and forth. “It’s just sinking in that I might actually go to jail. And I think I might be sick. Try not to judge me, will you? We don’t all have your penchant for savagery.”

“You weren’t actually going to Crucio him, were you? Because I’d probably have to fight you.”

Blaise rolled his eyes, but didn’t cease his frantic pacing. “Harry, you are not actually an Auror, and the Dark Lord is dead. It’s not your job to prevent every bit of dark magic you see.”

“So you – you would have?”

“I don’t know,” said Blaise. He stopped pacing and sat, reaching under his bed to pull out a bottle of Elf-Wine. “Is it any worse than what he – what he tried to do? To Susan. I just – she won’t feel safe, not while he’s around, and all I want is for her to feel safe. Oh god, Harry, you can never ever tell her about this. She’d be so angry.”

“Wouldn’t she be grateful?”

“If she feels she has to feel grateful, she’ll hate me,” he said. He poured two glasses and motioned for Harry to sit down, levitating the drink over to him. “I just – fuck, I was so scared. If Michael had actually tried to fight back, I don’t know what I’d have done. I’ve always been rubbish at duelling. That’s really why I bought you.”

“Hermione says I lack the necessary precision require to duel perfectly,” said Harry.

Blaise laughed. “Duly noted. I just – I couldn’t have done it alone, Harry. Thank you. I’ve never been brave. Never. I don’t even know how I got the courage to do that back there. It’s just – Susan.”

“Susan?”

Blaise shut his eyes and swooned backwards dramatically. “She makes me want to do incredible things, you know. Fight a war. Slay a dragon. Punch a bad guy in the face.”

“Maybe you should do something like that,” said Harry. “I mean, maybe something less violent. And don’t hurt any dragons.”

“I can’t, Harry,” said Blaise miserably. “That’s not me. That’s not who I am.”

“Then show her in your own way. Do something that you do well, for her. Just let her know that it’s all for her.”

Blaise cracked an eyelid and pushed himself up on the bed. “Are you telling me that I should try and dazzle my way into her heart, Harry?”

Harry nodded, because as far as he could tell giving advice was just saying vague statements and letting people draw what they wanted from them. Blaise considered his words for a second, or possibly just considered the wine. Then he suddenly jumped up, with a little ‘a-ha!’ that struck Harry, hysterically tired, with a new fit of giggles.

“Potter, you’re a genius!”

“I am?”

“Most of the time, no. But you were just then. I have it!”

“Oh good. What are you going to do?”

Blaise flung his arms wide. “I’m going to throw a party. A proper one, not one of our shitty little flat ones.”

“We can only have two non-student guests per person,” said Harry.

Blaise waved a hand. “Oh no no, inner circle only. But it’s going to be dazzling! I’ll decorate, and expand the kitchen, and we can have a proper bartender – and a band, Harry, let’s have a band! Dancing is the most romantic thing in the world. It is lovemaking in clothes, as my mother always used to say.”

“Your mother said that to you?” said Harry wonderingly. He tried to imagine Molly Weasley saying something like that to Ron. It would probably have been the end of Ron’s attempts at dancing or love-making, possibly forever.

“She taught me well. Now, Harry, do you think we could persuade Hermione to put an extension charm on the kitchen below?”

The end of term approached, black and miserable, and life chugged on.

Michael’s stuff disappeared from his dorm-room one night, along with Michael. Harry found Susan leaning against the doorway one day, looking into the empty room.

“I don’t know what happened, Potter,” she said. “But I know something did.”

“Maybe he just felt guilty,” he said. _About as guilty as me._

She just hummed thoughtfully, before Hannah took her by the arm and led her away.

Blaise was running around sorting out his “Balls-Out End of Term Extravaganza,” which he was still insisting on holding in the downstairs flat. Harry was thankfully separate from the planning process because Blaise said his taste was horrific. The same was not true of Draco, unfortunately.

“I blame my mother,” he said, over coffee with Harry and Dean. “If she hadn’t been a paragon of the social graces, Blaise would never have asked me for my help. Oh, how I long to go back to those simple days of selecting the most elegant centrepiece. She always sent a message, that woman.”

“What was the message?” said Dean.

“How much fucking money we had, basically. I’m ham-strung by my budget. Who knew that shipping Gladioli from Africa was so expensive?”

“Literally everyone in the world except for you?” said Harry. Malfoy gave him the finger.

They were mates again. It was nice. It was fine. Harry wouldn’t push, whatever that meant. However much he wanted to.

But there were little moments where the pain of not talking about it was almost too much. When Draco was making coffee for them and bitching about his professor, his hands moving through the air like he was sketching the lecturer’s incompetence. Or when he caught sight of Harry trying to dodge an over-enthusiastic fan on a day out shopping and mouthed ‘famous Harry Potter’ at him with such a trademark leer that Harry burst out laughing and the fan, clearly worried, offered him a hankie. Or when Blaise told a story about the first time Draco got high – holding off Draco with o nr hand, who was trying to fling himself boldly on Blaise to shut him up.

“And then he said to Greg “help, Greg, I think I’m a ghost” and Greg told him he should try walking through something –“

“Zabini I will murder you and leave your body for the crows –“

“So he spent the rest of the night running full tilt at the furniture, and Pansy kept pulling it out of the way just in time so he was convinced he’d really passed through. We had to stop when he threw himself at a wall and started screaming.”

“I broke a toe!” shrieked Draco, and Harry doubled over laughing and thought _God, I wish I’d been around to see that. I wish I knew all of him._

Now that he had a lot of time to reflect on Draco without filling it up with sex or awkwardness, it was becoming apparent just how much he thought about him. The answer was too much. Every two seconds, approximately. He’d be doing something normal, like showering or eating his toast, and suddenly he’d be wondering about what Draco was like as a baby. His lecturer would mispronounce something or the muggle girl who sat in front of him in philosophy would wear a particularly ugly outfit and he’d suddenly be full of anticipation for what Draco might say about it. And then there was the wanking, of course. He tried to vary it up to stop himself from becoming a complete sad sack. He’d start off very deliberately thinking of Charlie Weasley’s calloused hands or the way Hannah had looked in her little skirt last night, and he’d always end up back on Malfoy, twisting up the sheets as he got fucked.

“I need to get laid,” he said to his little room, dick out and dirty tissue in hand. It was one of the lower moments of his life. He tried to compare it to the time he’d had to sneak off into the forest to wank on their year on the run, and concluded that no, this was worse.

“What do you do to stop thinking about someone?” he asked Ron over a pint. “Hypothetically.”

Ron blinked. “You’ve been asking an awful lot of hypotheticals recently, mate. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah. Just peachy. I just mean – well, if someone’s in your head all the time. And it’s not even that you’re thinking about how wonderful they are, or how fit they look. You’re just obsessed with them. You want to know every single facet of them. You’ve got their voice inside your mind alongside your own. You dream about them talking to you. That kind of rubbish.”

“Fuck if I know,” said Ron. He looked angry. “Like, you look at them from afar and wish you could be near them? You desperately miss their voice and their body and their mind? Everything is just this horrible tangle of her, her, her, and it’s beating in your head until you start to go mad, and you wish that you had fallen in love with –“ He stopped short and went white. “Fuck.”

“You all right, mate?”

“Great. I just need to go talk to Charlie about moving to Romania,” said Ron, and ran out of the pub.

“Well, that was weird,” Harry said to the empty air, and resolved not to think about whether that was about Hermione or Pansy.

He went to Hermione next, because she was usually more coherent than Ron. He took her out to a nice place just off Diagon two days before Blaise’s party, and was about to raise the problem of Draco sodding Malfoy when Hermione looked up and gasped.

“Hi,” said Draco, who was standing next to Pansy.

“Hi,” said Harry.

“Hi,” said Hermione, staring at Pansy.

“Yes, let’s all greet each other,” said Pansy. She was not looking at Hermione. “Well, we came over to do that, and now we’ve done that. Best be off.”

“Oh no, please,” said Hermione. “Join us! It’s so nice to see you.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, because he was the worst. “Sit down. Let’s catch up.”

“Catch up,” said Draco. “Sounds fun.”

“It does?” said Pansy. “I thought you wanted to talk to me about that very private thing, you know –“

“What private thing? I have no secrets, I’m an open book. Let’s all sit down and have a drink.”

They sat down. There was a leaden silence. And then Draco said “Oh, I suppose I need a drink, don’t I?” and Hermione said “Yes, I’ll help,” and then there was just Harry and Pansy Parkinson.

“He’s the worst, isn’t he?” said Pansy.

Harry toasted her. “The maddest bastard I’ve ever met.”

She eyed him. “It’s never going to not be weird, you know. You two being friends. How do you do it?”

“Generally I just tune him out if he’s being a twat.”

“Oh that’s how we all survive. I meant with the history of it all.”

Harry looked down at the tabletop. “I guess it feels like it doesn’t matter as much anymore. I mean, I died. That’s a pretty good excuse for a fresh start.”

“You didn’t like him when he first showed up at uni, though.”

“No. But he’s changed, hasn’t he?”

“Not that much.”

“Well, I’ve changed too. Plus there’s not a war on anymore.”

She raised Hermione’s abandoned drinks. “To our golden childhood. Long may we repress our traumas. Did you know Amycus Carrow once told me he’d relax the uniform rules around skirt lengths just for me? And then followed me back to the common room to make sure I ‘got safely to bed.’”

“Jesus. I once had to fight a basilisk controlled by Voldemort with a sword when I was twelve.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “But I win.”

She tilted her head. “What do you think it would have been like if we hadn’t had to do all that?”

“I dunno. I might be a better student, I suppose.” He scoured a line into the tabletop with his fingernail. “I like to think we wouldn’t have hated each other as much. Gryffindor and Slytherin. I mean yeah, you were pretty shitty pre-teens. But I bet you were a cool seventeen year old aside from the blood prejudice. Some of the stories Blaise tells are pretty funny. Sometimes I wish - “ He stopped.

“Sometimes you wish you’d been there,” said Pansy.

“Yeah. Does that sound stupid?”

“That you’d rather have been getting high in a manor than fighting werewolves or something? No, I think that might be the sanest thing you’ve ever said.”

Looking at her now, Harry thought he could maybe see something of what Ron saw. She was never going to be pretty, but there was something faintly self-mocking about her prim little pout now. Her eyes were shrewd and intelligent; her dress was a violation of public decency. What had Ron said? _I feel like I’m in on the joke._

“So, don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, leaning forward. “But at school you were quite, uh – “

This had been a mistake. She was leaning forward with a predatory smirk. “Quite what, Potter?”

“Pink. And, um. Frilly. And now you’re – “ He gestured vaguely at the collection of spikes adorning her tits. “It’s, er. A departure.”

“Don’t like my dress?” she said, breasting at him.

“I don’t think I could pull it off,” he said, and she laughed.

“Well, Potter, I’d like to say something about how being freed from the restrictive standards applied to pureblood wives allowed me to discover my own taste, but honestly it’s just to piss off my parents.”

“Hello,” said Draco, shoving something acid green that Harry did _not_ want at him. “Pansy, please put on a jacket, you’re going to take someone’s eye out.”

“What’s this?” said Harry, holding up the glass.

“It’s an appletini, drink it. Pansy, I assume I don’t have to remind you of the code of Slytherin honour and the heinous penalty that awaits all who break it, do I?”

“Is the penalty having to drink an appletini like we’re divorced suburbanites in the nineteen-eighties?”

“Potter, the choice of drink was a dig at your obvious unsophistication, stop enjoying it. Pansy – “

“Tastiest dig I’ve ever had.”

“ _I_ haven’t said anything,” said Pansy. “What about you, Potter? Anything over here you want to comment on? Any extremely abnormal behaviour you’d like to ask a _what-the-fuck_ about?”

“Nah,” said Harry. His cocktail came with an _acid pop!_

“And you, Granger? Anything you want to comment on?”

“Oh no,” said Hermione wearily. “This is roughly how it is _all the time.”_

The evening was surprisingly pleasant. Hermione and Pansy were cautiously circling each other, but in a friendly seeming way. Like dogs sniffing each other’s bums or something. Draco and Pansy kept trying to one up each other with embarrassing stories. The appletinis were flowing. Life was good.

“So how did breaking up your Ravenclaw harem go for you?” said Draco.

“I wish you’d stop calling them that,” said Hermione, blushing. “Fine. Michael’s gone now, anyway – good riddance – and I’m thinking of setting Terry up with Luna. And Anthony’s going to be just fine, I imagine.”

“Anthony Goldstein?” said Pansy. “You jammy bitch. He was at the same schul as me. Honestly, the summer he filled out I nearly went into palpitations.”

“Yes, he’s very – nice,” said Hermione, with a disconcerting dreamy look in her eyes.

“Can’t believe you’d give all that up.”

“Well, I just – I’d had my fun, you know? I think I’m ready to settle down into something more serious now.”

“Right,” said Pansy, and the atmosphere dropped around five thousand degrees. “That’s quite a change for you, isn’t it?”

“Well, I guess I was serious with Ron.”

Draco squeaked.

Pansy was not moving. “And you want to go back to that?”

“I don’t – “

“You know something?” Pansy’s voice was bored, idle. “I almost thought you’d changed for a second. Wouldn’t that have been something, Hermione Granger actually being interesting? But no, same old same old. Potter, Weasley and a chunky sweater.”

Draco shot to his feet. “Well this has been fun, but we better go – “

“And what about you, Pansy?” snarled Hermione. “You might have swapped out one set of please-look-at-me clothes for another, but you’re still the same underneath. No substance, all – well, I hesitate to call it style.”

“ _Such_ fun,” said Harry, “but it’s bedtime, so – “

“What would you know about style, Granger? Oh I forgot – Patil’s dressed you up a few times and now you feel like a real girl.”

“Some of us don’t need to get our tits out – “

“And some of us haven’t got the option. That bra must be older than your ugly cat now.”

Hermione roared like a werewolf and lunged across the table. Harry grabbed at her as Draco grabbed at Pansy – who was actually _hissing_ and swiping at Hermione’s face.

“I didn’t expect the bra thing to be the thing that set her off,” he yelled at Harry above their heads.

“Stop flirting and help me claw the bitch’s face off!” screamed Pansy.

And it was at that moment, just as a bouncer hit them all with a body-bind, that Harry saw the flash of a camera going off.

“So, nice night out,” said Harry.

They were curled in Hermione’s room on the bed, silently eating toast. Hermione was not looking at him.

“She was bang out of order, Hermione. She had it coming.”

Nothing but bready crunching.

“Want to take bets on what tomorrow’s Prophet headline will be?”

“Harry, I’m so sorry.”

She looked pale and fragile, curled up on the bed. Harry took pity on her and scooped her under his arm.

“It’s all right. The uni grounds are charmed against Howlers. I might get dive bombed on the next night out though.”

“Was she right?”

“What?”

“Am I really frumpy? I mean, I think I am. I know I am. Does knowing make it better? Maybe if I’m self-aware of it I can kind of pull it off in an ironic way.”

“You’re not frumpy.”

“She’s just – she’s everything I’m not, you know?”

“Who, Pansy?” No answer. “Is this because you want to get back together with Ron?”

Hermione burst into tears.

“Oh god,” said Harry. _ALERT ALERT ALERT_ went the klaxons in his brain. “Look, I’m sure Ron would be up for it. I mean, you know each other so well!” Intensified sobbing. “I always thought you were meant to be, you know.” An actual anguished moan at that one. “And you go so well together!”

“Of course we do!” keened Hermione. “Because that’s all I am! Potter and Weasley and an ugly jumper!”

And then she did something inexplicable. She turned and kissed him.

It should have been a nice kiss. It really should have. But her lips were wet, and it reminded him of unpleasantly of Cho Chang, and it felt weirdly medicinal. He gently pushed her off.

“Hermione…”

“I’m gay,” she said. “Oh fuck, I mean I think I like boys – but not you – I mean I like you – but girls are – they have thighs.”

“They do,” said Harry, nodding along helpfully like he had any idea what was going on.

“And their hair is so long and nice. And they’re really kind, and they always get you. And they just smell so good.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh, of course you don’t get it, Harry. You’re gay.”

“I am?”

She gave him a furious look from under her hair. “Please, Harry. We don’t have time for denials right now. I’m having an emotional crisis.”

“Well now I’m having one too. I’m gay?”

“Draco?”

Harry grimaced. “Ok, yeah, but… I don’t know that… I mean, it’s uni, isn’t it? Everyone tries something new at uni.”

“Usually they mean kickboxing or recreational drug use, not having sex with men.”

“I think I’m bisexual, actually,” said Harry. “And, um, I think you’re bisexual too?”

She sniffed. “Yeah. I definitely lean one way, though. And I think you do too.”

“Oh fuck,” said Harry. “Also, Ron should never find out about this. Not the – not the bi thing. I meant – “

“Oh yeah,” said Hermione. “Definitely. We take this one to the grave.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds, and then Hermione started laughing.

“What?” said Harry, trying to suppress the ridiculous grin that was spreading across his face too.

“Can you – can you imagine his face – “

Harry burst out laughing. “Oh fuck me, yeah. That weird grin he does when he’s trying to pretend he’s fine with something, and you can just see the anger twitching under the surface – “

“And his voice does the little squeaky thing – “

“He’d probably look like he did when I told him that Malfoy fancies you – “

Hermione stopped laughing.

“Harry,” she said, her voice dangerous calm, “why did you tell Ron that Malfoy fancies me when we both know perfectly well that he’s gay?”

“Um,” said Harry. Perhaps now his brilliant lying powers would show up. “I had to convince him that – that – uh – that he couldn’t win you back?”

Hermione was still staring at him. Then she pushed herself off the bed and started swearing in long, colourful strings.

“Hermione – “

“That – that fucking – man! Don’t look like that, Harry, you’re one too.”

“I know?”

“God, like I’m some kind of object to be won again – and like I’ve just been sitting around, waiting for him to sweep in and rescue me from my lonely existence – “

“Well, he knows he can’t now!” said Harry, brightly as possible. Hermione stomped her foot.

“Because he thinks I’m dating Malfoy, not because he actually respects my humanity and personhood!” She slammed her hand on her desk. “Don’t tell me – he’s going to have a long talk with me at Christmas, and he’s going to try and convince me that all that arguing was just a sign we’re meant to be together, except now it will come with a side-dish of patronising concern because you told him I fancied Malfoy!”

“Well,” said Harry. “I told him that Malfoy fancied you. I didn’t say – “

“That’s a quibble, Harry, and you know it. I’m going to have a nice, stern talk back at him. Honestly, who does he think he is? He needs to move on, Harry, else he’ll be there mooning around looking gloomy at my wedding. God, what if he objects?”

“I don’t think he wants you back anymore, Hermione.”

“We’ll see who gets a talking to,” she said, voice like thunder. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him what’s what. How dare he treat women like this? Honestly, Morag is right.”

Harry considered telling Hermione about all the lies, and then decided against it. She wasn’t exactly wrong. Ron had been pretty paternalistic, and he was planning to talk to her at Christmas, and he did desperately want to get out of the room.

“So, I should – go sleep off my hangover,” he said, and fled _._

“Well,” said Draco, when Harry ran into him in the campus coffee shop the next day.

“Well,” said Harry. “That was certainly a night.”

“Have you seen it yet?”

“What, The Prophet?” He’d been carefully not looking at the front of any newspapers he saw, and trying to chalk any pointing and whispering he heard up to his imagination.

“No, the new Puddlemere line-up. _Yes,_ The Prophet, you enormous imbecile. How did you survive past the age of eight?”

“People only really started trying to kill me when I was eleven,” said Harry. Draco looked astonishingly well put together as always, his grey beanie turning his paleness elfin. It matched his horrible eyes. With his pea-coat and his skinny black trousers he looked like a French art student, or an off duty model. With his eyebrow raised like that he looked – like he was waiting for Harry to finish staring at him like an idiot.

“I’m walking back to the dorms,” he blurted out. “Going my way?”

Draco shrugged. “If you think it won’t be too much of a stain on your reputation to be seen with – how did the reporter put it? – ‘a dangerous reminder of harder times.’”

“That’s a shit line.”

“It is, isn’t it? ‘Harder times.’ Oh, you mean two years ago? Yes, it was a bit challenging then, wasn’t it?”

December had leeched the world of colour, the trees arterial against the pearly sky. The sky which also matched the colours of Draco’s eyes. It was as if the world was teaming up to bully Harry. Which, come to think of it, would explain his entire life.

“How’s helping Blaise with his thing tomorrow?”

“Abominable. Disastrous. Shit. I can’t believe I’m arranging a party in honour of Susan Bones. Blaise keeps on trying to get me to go on these secret missions to find out what her favourite colour is, or what kind of tinsel she likes best. Like somehow me asking it will be more discreet.”

“She’s not receptive, then?”

“I think he’s treating her with kid gloves. Who wouldn’t be? I hear you fucked up Michael Corner.”

“I mostly just stood there looking impressive while he did the work.”

Draco laughed. “I think that’s the title of your autobiography.”

“Prick,” said Harry, jostling him and getting a middle finger in response.

“I did finish one thing,” said Draco. “I’ll show you when we get to the block. It’s very impressive.”

“Really? Done by you?”

“I’m wonderful with a decorating charm, Potter.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a regular little housewife.”

“Excuse you, I’m an _exceptional_ little housewife.”

Harry couldn’t stop looking at him.

It wasn’t even that Draco was handsome – he’d known that for ages. He’d probably known that since he was about twelve years old and noticed that Pansy Parkinson wouldn’t let go of him. It was that Draco was ridiculous. Possibly actually bonkers. It was that he would run himself ragged trying to give his friend a happy ending. It was – and this could not be over stated – because he wasn’t a fucking terrorist anymore, and therefore just Draco.

“You’re staring again,” said Draco. “Knock it off, it’s rude. Anyway, we’re here.”

“It doesn’t look any different,” he said, staring at the blocky little lump he called home.

“Ah,” said Draco, twirling his wand. “But wait till I do – _this.”_

Brilliant flowers of ice exploded across the walls. They grew vines that raced across each other, frost-roses and verglass leaves threaded with delicate hoary veins, each bloom glimmering with a deep-blue light from within. Within seconds, the house was hidden behind a fairy-tale wall of shimmering loveliness. The last flower exploded high in the air above them, and the sky over the house was full of softly falling snow.

“That’s brilliant!” said Harry. He grabbed some snow, held it to his lips. “It’s real! Draco, this is – “

“It’s not much,” said Draco hurriedly, glancing at Harry sideways. “It’s just a few old charms, I kind of cobbled it together.”

“Cobbled it together? Draco, this is the best bit of magic I’ve ever seen!” He grabbed Draco’s hands. “You’re bloody amazing, you are.”

Draco blushed. That colour contrast – Harry could write poems about the pink and white of Draco’s face. So he did what seemed perfectly natural. He leant forward and kissed him.

Draco just shivered, and let Harry wreck him. Harry gripped at Draco’s shoulders, back, ran his hands through his hair and pulled them together. He kissed Draco’s neck, nipped at his ears.

“Harry – “

“Shh.” He bent back to Draco’s lips again. Why had they stopped kissing? Ever? Even for a second?

“POTTER!” Draco shoved him away, and Harry landed against the broom shed with a gasp.

“Draco – what? – I – “

Draco had his hands on his knees, bent double like he’d just run a mile. He was shaking. “I asked you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I asked you not to push.” His voice cracked into a whisper. “Why did you have to push?”

“Because – “ But he didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Because Draco had been beautiful? Because he didn’t know anyone else who’d make ice roses? Because the moment he’d had the idea, he wanted to be the kind of person who could kiss Draco in the snow.

“Because I needed to,” he said lamely.

Draco laughed. “And the great Harry Potter always gets what he wants, of course.”

“Draco – “

“Don’t.” That came hissed through his teeth with venom. “Here’s what’s going to happen, ok? You and I are going to get through tomorrow, and then you’ll go home for the winter break. When you come back, we’ll have spent three weeks apart and this – this – momentary madness will have been forgotten. You and I will go back to the way we were before, and you will never, ever, EVER bring up this moment again.”

“But I – “

But Draco was already striding towards the door. He paused. “I know you’re bad at respecting boundaries, Potter, but you need to respect this one. Else I promise you, I’ll just disappear.”

And with that, he was gone. Harry was alone. The snow was still falling.

The day of Blaise’s party, the last day of term, Harry awoke with a feeling of doom. 

It wasn’t hard to figure out what was causing it. It was hard to figure out what wasn’t, actually. All the people in his life who he loved where so very fucked. Well, Hagrid was probably fine. Though come to think of it, Harry hadn’t heard from him in a while. God, maybe the curse had got him too.

“I don’t know why we have to have the party here,” Hermione was saying when he went down to see her for breakfast. “It’s Blaise’s thing.”

“He says he wants the courtyard for the possibility of ‘intimate moment’,” said Parvati. “I’m choosing not to think about it.”

“Do you think he’d change his mind if I stabbed out his eyeballs with a fork?” said Nott, who had apparently moved on from his monosyllabic act and was showcasing the “threats of violence” aspect of his personality.

“Unlikely,” said Anthony. “He’d probably just bedazzle two eyepatches and declare himself pirate king.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to make the best of a bad situation,” said Hermione, flipping a pancake with far more force than necessary. “I certainly plan to. I have many, many plans for this party.”

“It’s going to be fun,” said Seamus, when Harry saw him later. He was carrying a box of tinsel. “Absolutely grand. Nice to be invited, this time. Sure nobody is planning to kick me out of the group for hurting Dean’s precious feelings?”

“Sea – “

“Course, he’ll probably be too busy sucking up to Blaise. Or sucking – whatever. Want to give me a hand with this tinsel, Harry?”

“Actually, I’ve got to – “

“Cool. I’ll find Hannah. Hang out with someone normal for a bit.”

“It’s going to be fine,” said Dean when Harry caught him in the kitchen. “Everything’s just a little bit awkward now because I acted like a lunatic. But that’s fine! That’s life, you know? Sometimes, you cock up spectacularly and everyone forgives you in the end. Usually via alcohol. Tonight will be perfect.”

“It’s going to be spectacular!” said Blaise, who grabbed Harry outside his last lecture. “The stage is set. My outfit is picked. I’ve adjusted the lights so they’ll show off my complexion at its most delectable. The music will be soft and low and romantic. I have everything – fuck, I’ve forgotten something.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. Do you think it’s too late to pop over to Diagon?”

“It’s six,” said Harry. “So, yes.”

“Great! So great. I’ve got to run. See you soon.” And Blaise took off at a sprint, still somehow moving with eerie grace.

“It’s going to be hysterical,” said Morag when Harry found her smoking outside the front gate, and refused to elaborate further.

“It’s going to be all right,” said Ron, when Harry was signing him in at the main office. “I’ll just have a nice talk with Hermione, easy like. Hermione, I’ll say, we’re still mates, and as mates I care about you. I just want to make sure that you make good choices – wait, no. That sounds like I’m telling her her choices aren’t good. They are good at the moment. I don’t want bad future choices. Unless she’s already shacked up with Malfoy. She hasn’t, has she? Has she, Harry?”

Doomed. They were all so very doomed.


	4. All I Want For Christmas Is You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very quickly - this chapter contains a reference to hair-related racism that Hermione has experience, and includes a character openly describing a lot of internalised homophobia.

Weeks later, when asked about Blaise’s “Balls-Out End of Term Extravaganza,” Hermione would compare it to a Rube Goldberg machine. She would then flip a middle finger up at Blaise as he told her not to compare his ‘devastating night of romance to any _Muggle_ crap,’ and explain that a Goldberg was a machine designed to do a simple task in an extraordinary complex chain of cause and effect – balls rolling along shelves to drop into buckets to lift up pulleys to spray water on delicately balanced scales. She would show them a video, which Harry had to admit was pretty funny. Blaise would complain that she could have just used a chain of dominoes as her metaphor, and why did she always have to make everything so unnecessarily complicated?

“Because a chain of dominoes falling is an orderly event, Blaise,” she would say with an air of infinite weariness. “And it doesn’t even _begin_ to cover the absolute skull-fuckery of that night.”

The first domino fell as Harry was leaning against a wall, holding a carrot stick in one hand and a warm beer in the other and debating which one would be worse to put in his mouth. 

The party was beautiful. Blaise had really outdone himself. There were twinkling candles floating above the guests, wrapped in ribbons and holly and the occasional sprig of mistletoe. The shitty walls were hidden behind carefully placed baby firs, or magically charmed fires with chestnuts levitating above them at the perfect state of toastedness. Fairy lights transfigured into the shape of actual fairies decked the ceiling in shimmering strings of loveliness. There was, thank god, no band.

He did have Ron next to him, however, which came with a constant stream of noise.

“Where is she?” said Rom, twitching in his suit. “Is she avoiding me? Oh god, she’s probably in a corner with Malfoy somewhere. Harry, you’d tell me if they started dating, right? Oh fuck, there’s Pansy. Do I look ok? I feel like a twat in this suit. It’s one of Percy’s. I just felt like I couldn’t go out in a t-shirt. She really cares about clothes. I bet Malfoy’s dressed all nice. Bastard got cut off but took half his wardrobe with him, I bet.”

“Uh huh.”

“What if he starts on the both of them? I mean, Pansy’s not at uni. He could conceivably have them both on the go. I should have listened to you in sixth year, Harry. He’s Malfoy. He could be up to anything.”

“Oh look,” said Harry desperately, “there’s Hermione.”

She had, unfortunately, entered with Draco. Harry pushed through the mingled people towards them, desperate to avoid more Ronologuing. Hermione was looking gorgeous in a backless black velvet dress, her hair piled up on her head with a golden pin. Draco looked – his mind briefly turned to static. He bumped into Hannah Abbot.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, patting her vaguely in the shoulder area. Draco was wearing a three-piece suit. Oh god, Harry was just wearing a blazer again. Couldn’t he have used his sort-of fame to rustle up some nice clothes? Why was he so useless?

“Hey, ‘Mione. Hi, Draco, you look – “

“I think I see Pansy,” said Draco, fleeing with panache.

“Jesus,” said Hermione, looking between Harry and Draco’s back. “What _happened_ with you two?”

“I – well, I – “

“Granger,” said Pansy Parkinson, wearing yet another fuck-you-dad ensemble. “I need to steal Potter here.”

“Oh, do you want to borrow my ugly jumper too? I mean, you already seem to be trying to get my Weasley.”

Pansy sneered. Harry filled with pride at Hermione’s new claws. A better friend would have stayed with her and backed her up. But he was rapidly realising he was quite a shit person, and Pansy might have important Draco related information – 

“I’ll just – er – I’ll be back in a minute, ‘Mione.” Pansy was tugging on his sleeve with surprising strength.

“You really should apologise to her, you know.”

“Shut up,” hissed Pansy, releasing him as they rounded the corner into the corridor. “All you men, why can’t you just – shut up!”

“ _You_ wanted to talk to me!”

“Talk at you, more like. And you need to listen. Whatever you’re doing with Draco, stop it.”

“I have stopped it!”

“Then re-start it again! Or – I don’t know – do something! He’s miserable.”

“I’m not doing so great either, you know. And I don’t know if you saw that in there, but he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Are you really going to be scared off just because Draco’s acting prissy? Blaise was right, you two are a shitshow together.”

“Blaise said that we were a shitshow? Wait, how does he even know -?”

“Everyone knows, Potter! Subtlety has never been one of your strong suits! Look, I just want you to – I want you to – “

Her voice was trembling, her eyes shiny. Harry took a surreptitious look around and dragged her behind a conifer.

“If you try and snog me, Potter, I will murder you.”

“Well, that is my type,” he said. “Look, you just looked like you were going to cry, all right? I thought you’d prefer if people didn’t see that.”

She sniffled. “Oh fuck you. I will cry if you say things like that.”

“All right. In that case, I definitely pulled you here so that I could have my wicked way with you.” That got him a watery laugh and a middle finger. “Look, Pansy. I’ll try and talk to Draco tonight, all right? But – I cannot stress this enough – he will likely tell me to fuck off and die. So no promises.”

“Do you mean that or are you just scared of crying women?”

“The answer, from the bottom of my heart, is both.”

“Potter!” said Blaise, pushing apart the tree they were in. “Are you – oh, no. Absolutely not. Pansy, seriously? Tonight is too important to mess up, so if you two must have life ruining sex – “

“Did you tell Pansy you thought Draco and I were a shitshow together?” said Harry.

Blaise blinked. “Well, I haven’t been proven _wrong.”_

“See if I help you beat up anyone ever again,” said Harry.

“Potter helped you beat someone up?”

“Of course not,” said Blaise, through gritted teeth. “Because that would be a crime, and he definitely wouldn’t be stupid enough to talk about that in front of an auror.”

“He almost certainly is,” said Pansy.

Harry threw up his hands. “Fine! Fuck both of you. I’m going to go and try to get my shitshow back on the road. Blaise, good luck with your weird romantic plans. Pansy, try talking to people without veiled threats, it might get you somewhere.”

He stomped off in the direction of the kitchen, hoping to find Draco, when he heard raised voices coming from down the corridor.

“You clearly don’t want to talk to me – “

“If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” said Dean. Harry edged along, driven by unquenchable nosiness. Dean and Seamus were encamped behind a pair of mini firs, looking furious.

“I just miss my best mate,” said Dean. “Come on, we spent seven years attached at the hip and now we’re barely talking. I’m sorry, all right? Is that what you need me to say?”

“I don’t need you to say anything. You’ve clearly got life sorted, all right? You don’t need me anymore, do you?”

“I’ll always need you,” said Dean, his voice broken. “Wait, that came out wrong – “

And then Harry tripped and stumbled against the wall.

Seamus turned. His nostrils flared, his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. “Sorry, Potter, was I keeping you from your hot date?”

“I was just looking for the loo,” said Harry. Since when had Seamus called him Potter? Not since fifth year, when –

“Oh fuck you,” said Dean, grabbing Seamus by the bicep. “Why do you care if I do shag Harry? It’s none of your business who I fuck.”

“But, you know, we’re not – “ said Harry, only to be totally ignored.

“Please, don’t let me get in the way,” said Seamus. “Have all the fun you want together. Why should you care about how I feel, right? I’m only your best friend who you apparently miss, so fuck me if I don’t like this.”

“Don’t like what, Seamus?” said Dean. “You’ve been dancing round it all term, trying to avoid coming out and saying it, and I’m sick of it. What don’t you like? Come on, tell me.”

Seamus ripped his arm away. “Bugger you both. Oh wait, that’s you job. Please make sure to spare me _all_ the details.”

“We’re not done!” But Seamus was storming away. Dean deflated against a wall.

“Er, sorry,” said Harry. “I should – oh, Dean, please don’t cry.”

“I don’t think I can,” said Dean, his voice hollow. “I think I may be finally, officially out of tears. Hooray for me, right?”

“Are you going to try again?”

Dean shrugged. “What else can I do?”

“Come here,” said Harry, and Dean hugged him, burying his face in his shoulder. “You’re going to be all right, you know?”

And then the second – or maybe the third, or fourth, who was counting now – domino fell. Dean pulled away, teary eyed, and the door behind them opened and Draco walked out. Harry had a brief, violent out of body experience as he saw how the whole scene looked – Dean inches from his face, and Harry holding him close, and then he watched Draco’s eyes track up, up, up, Harry following him until he saw the mistletoe above his head.

Oh, fuck.

Draco grinned, a horrible thing, and stormed off down the corridor.

“Well,” said Dean. “I guess we’re even now, Harry.”

Back when she still remembered her, before magic had come like a wrecking ball into her life, Hermione’s mother had had a saying – _eavesdroppers never prosper._

She was a wise woman, Alice Granger. Hermione should have listened to her more.

“You look fit, Hermione,” Seamus said, slurring over her. Half his beer was seeping into his shirt. “You know, it’s kind of funny remembering I used to have a crush on you.”

“Uh huh,” she said, trying to extricate herself. “Yes, very funny, especially since we make absolutely no sense together – “

“Not like that, you know. I just thought you were very cool. Should have known, really.” He took another drink. Behind his head, Anthony caught her eye and mimed rolling a joint. She shot him a surreptitious thumbs up and watched him slip into the kitchen.

“It not like I wanted to shag you,” said Seamus. “I just thought you were sick, you know?”

“Well, jeez,” she said icily. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

He patted her shoulder unsteadily. “Not like that, I’m sorry. You’re really pretty. You know you’re pretty. Everyone loves you. Everyone hates me. Who wants ol’ Seamus?”

“I mean – “ She desperately wanted to leave. She could _not_ keep being free therapy for all these fucked up men. “Hannah liked you, didn’t she? Maybe you could ask her out?”

Seamus scoffed. “Yeah, but that would upset Dean.” His face changed from scowling to sad. “I don’t want to upset Dean. I just keep doing it. I’m poison, ‘Mione. I fuck up everything I touch.”

“Oi, Finnegan.” There was Draco, with a bottle of wine in his hand. “Come drink with me.”

“Fuck off.”

Draco slung an arm around his shoulders. “We’re in the same boat, you and me. Horrible fuckers, both of them. We’re better than that.”

Hermione slipped away while Draco was pouring them both a glass of wine, and made her way to the kitchen. She could see the back of Anthony’s head. She opened the door and was about to step out when she heard –

“ – Hermione, really?”

Parvati. That was Parvati’s voice.

“She’s funny, beautiful and clever,” said Anthony. “What’s there to get?”

Parvati snorted. “Oh come on, just one of you I could understand, but all three? Look, she’s lovely, but she’s not exactly a stunner.”

“Don’t be a bitch, Patil.”

“But that’s my primary trait.”

Hermione backed away from the door, her heart hammering in her throat. It was _it wasn’t like I wanted to shag you,_ it was _Weasley and Potter and an ugly jumper,_ it was all those things and so much more. It was her teeth growing over her chin and children in the playground yanking on her curls and saying _why does it frizz like that? My mum says hair like yours is dirty._ It was the day after the Yule Ball when everyone had gone back to not looking twice at her. It was –

It was her heart breaking.

It didn’t matter, really, that Anthony had called her beautiful. It wouldn’t have mattered if everyone at this party had gotten down on bended knee and sung praises to her radiance, because Parvati didn’t want her. She’d known this, but now she _knew_ it.

She barrelled through the crowd without looking, ignoring Terry as he called after her. She barely noticed when she ran smack dab into a familiar, welcoming chest.

“Oof – Hey, ‘Mione. I’ve been looking for you.”

Ron cupped her face gently. She was probably crying. Oh god, she was crying about the girl she was in love with in front of _Ron._

“Leave me alone,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione, but we really need to talk about it, ok?”

She laughed. “Why? So you can talk me into getting back together with you?”

“Um, well – “

“Because honestly? You probably could. I’m fucking needy. I’m a mess. I can’t survive dating. I should have done what Molly said and settled down. I would only be a tiny bit unhappy.”

“Cheers.”

She shook him off. “So if you came to give a big speech, don’t worry about it, because apparently I’m too pathetic to deserve one.”

“Hermione, you’re not – “ He broke off. “Oh, shit.”

Pansy Parkinson stood behind them, tapping her blood red nails on a champagne flute.

Hermione couldn’t help herself. Later, she’d barely be able to remember why she did it. It was the alcohol and the poison inside her mingling and pushing out of her mouth to say –

“Don’t worry, Parkinson. You can still have my ugly jumper.”

Pansy backed away down the corridor, disappearing into the crowd.

“Oh Merlin,” said Ron. “What was that about?”

“She thinks we’re in competition,” said Hermione airily. She wiped her eyes. “She doesn’t know she’s welcome to whatever she wants.”

Ron turned purple. “Really? Thank god, I was worried – “

“I don’t want to hear it, Ron,” she said.

She needed to find another drink.

“Are these flowers ugly?” said Blaise, shoving a bouquet into Harry’s face.

“Uh.” The menacing eyes of twenty yellow chrysanthemums stared back at him. “No?”

“You’re lying, aren’t you? Fuck, I knew they were terrible. I had to go to a Muggle Tesco. And then I acted like a total buffoon and tried to pay with Galleons, because – “

“Sorry, Blaise, but have you seen Draco?”

Blaise shrugged. “He was bemoaning you and Dean with Seamus last time I checked. I know I’m supposed to be on his side, but you and Thomas would look lovely together. Do let me know if you’d like a third.”

Harry decided to leave _all_ the implications of that aside. “Um, what about Susan?”

“Avoiding me,” said Blaise, his jaw tense. “I bought her horrible flowers and she’s avoiding me, the harridan.”

Blaise was still talking about the trials of Muggle supermarkets, but all the noise in the world had cut out, because Harry had just seen Draco again. He was over by the drinks table, laughing with Seamus and Terry. Harry strode towards him. He just needed to –

“Can you tell I’ve been crying?” said Hermione, grabbing his arm.

“No?” You absolutely could, her eyes were still red around the edges, but he needed to talk to Draco, he needed to –

“Harry fucking Potter,” snarled Susan, grabbing his other arm. “You and me are going to have a little chat about Michael Corner.”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Time to expertly lie his way out of this. “I’d really rather not,” he said.

“Bones.” There was Blaise. “How about we forget about that and focus on the flowers and the sprig of mistletoe – “

“I hate chrysanthemums and I want to know about Michael bloody Corner.”

“Oh, you got chrysanthemums?” said Hermione. “Why?”

“They were all the shop had left,” said Blaise. “Anyway, isn’t this your favourite song?”

“Oh how funny you know that. Is this what all those Draco Malfoy fact-finding missions were about? You creating the perfect atmosphere for me to be overwhelmed by gratitude to you for saving me so I could fall into your bed?”

“I just wanted to create a nice atmosphere for you so you could – “

“You bought me fucking chrysanthemums! And I’m not interested in an atmosphere, I am not here for the Blaise Zabini seduction special –“

“I can get you different flowers!”

“Do you want to dance, Hermione?” said Parvati.

“No,” said Hermione, dour and flat. “I don’t want to dance with you.”

“It’s not about the flowers,” said Susan. “It’s about this whole – _thing,_ like you’re trying to win me through interior décor – “

“I know how you really feel about me, Parvati, and I’m done being your plaything.”

“I don’t know what else to win you through, Bones, this is me throwing absolutely everything at you – “

“Who told you, Hermione? Was it Anthony?”

“Do you think this is funny for me, Blaise? Having you flirt with me all the time? It’s fucking excruciating.”

“What she said,” said Hermione. “I can’t believe you, I thought I was your friend and you’re turning me into some kind of joke – “

“Exactly, Granger,” said Susan.

“I really need to go,” said Harry, squeezing between two very angry women. Draco was still at the table.

“Draco, could we talk?”

“Not now, Potter,” said Draco. “Padma’s telling us about life in the fashion industry – “

“Pansy suggested it, really, so you should listen to her – “

“I said not now, Potter, what part of my little speech yesterday was unclear?”

“It was just – I – I – “

“Here we go,” muttered Terry.

Draco’s lips were parted. His hair was pushed back in soft waves that Harry wanted to run his fingers through. His eyes were luminous and wild and strange. How had he ever thought you could read them? There were unknown depths you could never finish exploring.

 _Oh,_ he thought wildly, and then –

And then Terry Boot said “Mistletoe.”

Harry looked up, like an idiot. What did he expect to find, a phoenix? But no, there was mistletoe, cheerfully menacing.

“Absolutely not,” said Draco.

“Go on,” said Padma, clapping her hands. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yeah, ‘tis the season,” said Hannah. “Let’s see some love.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably. “I think maybe it’s best if we let this one slide.”

“Why?” said Harry, hot and irrationally angry. “I’m not chicken.”

Draco muttered something about “fucking Gryffindors.” “Well, Potter, I can’t imagine kissing me is high on your Christmas list –“

“Maybe it is,” he said, ignoring Hannah’s sharp breath. “You don’t know me.”

“Fine! Just do it, then –“ But Harry had started moving on fine, and he cut Draco off with his lips.

He gripped Draco by the small of his back, dragging him foreword. He used every inch of his height, tilting Draco back. One of his hands stroked Draco’s throat, tugging on the short licks of hair at the nape of his neck. He felt the moment Draco broke and started kissing him back, earnest and messy and desperate. And in his head, he was already doing the calculations – could he get Draco up on the kitchen table? How quickly could he drag them back to his rooms and get him out of those robes?

And then Draco pushed him away with a gasp, wiping his mouth.

“Draco –“

“I really must go,” said Draco in a shrill, and dashed off to the other side of the room.

“Woah,” said Hannah. “Fancy kissing me, Harry?”

He pecked her on the lips, because he was a nice guy, and dashed after Draco without a thought.

“We need to talk,” he said, pulling him away from conversation with Pansy.

“Not right now, Potter, I’m talking to-“

“I’m sure Pansy would agree that we need to talk. Right, Parkinson?”

She seemed to waver a moment, her eyes glittering with tears. Harry wondered what that was about, and then decided he didn’t much care.

Finally, she nodded. “I’m all right, Draco. You go talk to Potter.”

“Spectacular,” muttered Draco, but he followed Harry out of the stifling air indoors and down the little alley that led to the courtyard.

“So,” said Harry, crossing his arms. “That kiss. That was something.”

Draco laughed bitterly. “Yes, it was.”

“Look, I know you told me not to. But I need to. I have to push.”

“Of course,” Draco sneered, looking every bit the schoolboy bully. “Well, I’ll just get on my knees for you, shall I? Or would you prefer me up against the wall?”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Oh, it very much is. The twinkling lights and the Christmas spirit have gotten to you, and now you want a bit for old times’ sake. Don’t worry, you’ll be back to your senses by New Years.”

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult?” Harry shouted, and Draco cackled with his head thrown back.

“Oh, I wish I could. I’d love to be difficult. But as it turns out, I’m very easy when it comes to you. So I’ll ask again – on my knees, or up against the wall?”

“Draco –“

“Don’t. Call me Malfoy. It makes it easier.” It had begun to rain around them. Draco tilted his head up and let the water run down his neck. “It’s better if I remember what I am to you. When you say my name when we fuck it almost sounds like you care about me.”

“I do care about you,” Harry said desperately. “Why can’t you believe that?”

“Not the way I care about you. And oh, have I _cared_ about you. Obsessing over you at school, getting more and more frantic with every scrap of attention you poured away from me and towards the war. Doing my NEWTS at the manor and cutting out each press clipping, burning inside and wondering if you were thinking about me at all, or if you were too busy enjoying your victory. And then this year you had the audacity to actually – to look at me –“

“And I couldn’t look away,” said Harry. “I think about you every second, do you understand? Even before we were shagging, I couldn’t stop thinking –“

“Because you hated me, Harry.” Draco’s voice was soft, his smile uneven. “Well done. You have finally destroyed me.”

“Stop it, please. Just let me –“

He reached for Draco as Draco reached for him, and they collided in a mess of teeth and lips and rain. And possibly tears – Draco was snuffling against his mouth. His fingers were clawing raggedly at Harry’s sides. It was so much worse than their kiss before, and so much better. Harry felt rabid, unhinged. Draco bucked like a wild thing beneath his hands.

He pulled away to take in Draco, flushed and damp. “You love me,” he said, thick with the wonder of it all. Draco’s eyes widened, and –

 _“_ Just – Let’s just talk in the courtyard, Ron,” said Hermione’s voice, and then Ron was loudly complaining about the rain as he came down the passageway. Harry and Draco exchanged identical panicked looks, and then by mutual agreement rushed into the secret cupboard, closing the door just in time.

“We need to talk,” said Hermione, her voice heavy. “Look, Ron – you know that I care about you.”

“Oh,” said Ron. “Oh, Hermione, please don’t.”

“Please don’t? Don’t what? Just because you’re allergic to your emotions and can’t consider the possibility that having an open, honest conversation is the best way – “

“I just, I just need to say some things before you say what you’re about to say – “

“No!” Hermione actually stamped her foot, something Harry had assumed people only did in films. “I need to say some things first, and you’re not going to like them, but now I want to say another bunch of things that you also won’t like – oh for god’s sake, I’ll just number them. Number one, I do not appreciate the sentiment that you know what I’m about to say, ok?”

“Ok,” said Ron.

“Just because we spent years as best friends doesn’t mean you know everything about me. There are many things you don‘t, and many of them will surprise you, because I have hidden depths. And number two, I hate the way you act like every conversation we have about our feelings is some awful torture that I’m forcing upon you, rather than a necessary part of any friendship, or relationship for that matter.”

“Right,” said Ron, nodding vigorously. “But you see, Hermione – “

“Because telling people how you feel is important, Ron! Take this as a piece of advice for the next poor girl you date – you need to just – just – “

“Tell her how I feel?”

Hermione spun and pointed at him. “Exactly! You think repressing your emotions and not talking openly about stuff makes you strong, but you’re wrong. It just makes you difficult.”

“You’re probably right,” said Ron.

“Probably? Not to mention it dramatically increases the potential for miscommunication, which is – “

“I’m in love with someone!” Ron yelled. “I’m in love with someone, and I wanted to talk to you before anything happened because I didn’t want you to be hurt, and also because I’m worried about you, but now – “

“Why would I be hurt?” Hermione yelled. “I mean, I’m happy for you – “

“The yelling suggests the opposite.”

“ – But I haven’t been sitting under a stasis charm, just waiting for you – “

“I can see that now,” Ron yelled back. “I mean, five seconds of seeing you with Malfoy – “

“Malfoy!” Hermione was reaching fever pitch. “Oh for god’s sake, Harry was lying to you about Malfoy. And a nice job you did there too, now Harry’s convinced that you’ll never accept him.”

“Why would I need to accept Malfoy?” said Ron, sounding pained. Hermione stuttered and turned red.

Thankfully, there was the bang of the kitchen door flying open, and then –

“Susan, please,” said Blaise. “Please, just hear me out – “

“Don’t you dare, Potter,” muttered Draco murderously, but seven years of instincts were not easily repressed and Harry was already waving Hermione and Ron into their hiding place. They crowded in, closing the door silently just as Susan stormed into the courtyard.

“What?” said Ron.

“I’m bisexual,” said Harry, keeping his voice low. He really, really didn’t want to see Blaise being scary again.

“Right,” said Ron. “Hullo, Malfoy. So were you, uh, being bisexual in here?”

Draco was going an alarming shade of red and making slight choking sounds.

Ron nodded weakly, as if Draco had said something terribly interesting. “It’s a nice cupboard to be bisexual in, I guess. As cupboards go.”

“Ron, what are you doing,” hissed Harry.

“Being cool and supportive about this,” Ron hissed back.

“I am here,” said Draco. “And no, Weasley, we were not being bisexual in this cupboard.”

“We were being bisexual in the courtyard,” said Harry. “No, not like that! I just mean, we were – “

“We were talking,” said Draco. He was standing ramrod stiff, his expression somewhere between furious and scared. “In a heterosexual fashion. Because I’m not gay. Or bisexual.”

“Right,” said Ron. “Well, I’m, uh. Very supportive of that too. Just not in Hermione’s direction. Not that I own her, but – “

“Listen, Ron,” said Hermione, just as Susan yelled “Just stop it!” and they all crowded towards the door to peek through the slats.

“Please,” said Susan. “What are you getting out of this? Just – why do you keep coming back? Surely you can’t still find this funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny – “

“What are you trying, then? Another notch on the Zabini bedpost? Surely after all those European princesses and pureblooded high-born bitches – “

“Well, you’re a pure-blood – “

“Shut up – surely, surely I can’t have that much appeal. So what is it? What, Blaise, because I don’t know what to do with you. Some days you’re my best friend and you’re making me laugh and we’re cracking up at the world together, and it seems like you really respect me, and then suddenly you turn around and you’re mock-flirting with me. It’s giving me emotional whiplash, and I’m through with it. If you can’t respect me – “

“I do respect you – “

“If you can’t – “

“I respect you more than any woman I’ve ever bloody met!” roared Blaise. “I – I’m pretty deeply in – in respect with you.”

Susan, apparently moved beyond words, paused for a moment and then let out a shriek. Blaise reached out to grip her by the shoulders and then stopped, frozen in the air, as Susan moved away from him towards the door.

“I’m done with you, Blaise – “

This time he did grab her, slinging one arm round her waist and reeling her in. “Susan, please – “

“Blaise – “

“Give me five minutes. Five minutes to fix this, please. Please, Susan, anything, anything you want, just give me five – “

She pushed him off. “You’re – fuck it, fine. Go on. Five minutes.”

Blaise stammered. “I just – I didn’t believe in fairy-tales. I thought the world was all nuance and manipulation. My entire life, I’ve ducked away from anything real. All I am is artifice and charm, and I thought that was enough.”

“You’re not really selling yourself,” said Susan.

“But you,” said Blaise, stepping forward. “You are real. I tried to hide from it for so long. I wrapped it up in jokes and tried to sell you my cheap charm. And you wouldn’t take it. You made it clear that nothing except the entirety of myself would be enough. And I still tried to cheat you, tonight. I hoped that wish a little glitz and glamour and flowers I could sway you. I should have known.”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“I’m a challenge for you,” she said, her voice flinty.

“A challenge? Yes, but not in the way you mean. You’re the worst and hardest challenge I’ve ever faced. I can’t cheat you or charm you. All I can do is offer up myself, again and again.”

She was staring at the ground. He stepped forward, gentle.

“Look,” said Blaise. “I understand I’ve been a cock to you in the past, both deliberately and without realising it. But Susan, I am standing here in the rain with a bundle of horrifically tacky flowers that I had to buy at a Muggle supermarket. Does that not suggest, in any way, that I might be sincere? Reject me because I’m a terrible person, reject me because you don’t trust me, reject me because you don’t fancy me. But please, god, at least reject me. I am…” He screwed his face up, “ – I am confessing. Which I have never done before. This is not me attempting to net you for some game. This is me saying that you, Susan Bones, are full-blown fucking astonishing, and none of the things I used to do for fun are fun anymore because of you, they just feel like some sort of consolation prize because I can’t have you, and if I can’t then that’s fine, that’s your choice, but I’d really like to know because the uncertainty of hope is ripping me open.”

“Oh,” said Susan.

“Yeah,” said Blaise. “The other day I was daydreaming. You know what I normally daydream about? Filthy, terrible things. Sometimes even filthy things involving you. But on this occasion I started day dreaming about our wedding, Susan. Our wedding. I’ve planned the colour scheme. It’s going to be beautiful and you’re only allowed to plan the seating chart because you’re good at politics but your aesthetic sense is terrible.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Not yet, Bones, that would be gauche.”

“This is going terribly,” muttered Draco. “Also, why is this the most dramatic courtyard in the world?”

“We weren’t having drama,” said Ron. “We were having a mature, adult conversation. Right, Hermione?”

“I’m into women,” said Hermione. “Specifically, Parvati.”

Ron turned bright red.

Susan was gaping. Her hair was plastered to her head, and her dress shirt was sticking to her skin, and even if Harry didn’t like women that much, he could appreciate that she was beautiful.

“I – I – “

“I am so done with you!” Dean’s voice came from nearby. “Get in here, we’re talking about this.”

Blaise and Susan looked around, panicked.

“We have to – “

“If they see us – “

“Psst,” said Hermione, waving her arms. “Come in here!”

“What are you doing here,” said Blaise, as he shoved into their hiding place and pulled Susan behind him. “Bones and I – “

“Susan.”

“Susan and I – “

“My boyfriend should call me by my first name.”

Blaise looked poleaxed. Then he turned around kissed her. It was a filthy kiss, but astonishingly the filthiness was coming from Susan, not Blaise. He looked – reverent.

“Right,” said Susan, breaking off. “Why were you eavesdropping?”

“Harry and Draco were having it out, and then we came along, so they ducked in here,” said Ron. “And then you came along, so we ducked in here. And then Dean and Seamus came along, so – well, you know.”

“Should we tell them we’re here?” said Hermione.

“Nope,” said Susan. “They need to have this conversation. I can’t stand this much teenage angst any longer. Also shh now, I’m snooping.”

“What is your problem,” said Dean. “Ever since I came out, you’ve been weird. You’ve been fucking avoiding me, and then acting like you haven’t, and if you’re going to be a homophobic tosser about this again at least let me know so that I don’t keep trying with this friendship.”

“I’ve got a problem? You seem like the one who can’t get rid of me fast enough, mate. Slobbering all over Blaise Zabini – and isn’t that a fucking laugh, thousands of wizards to go for and you go for that prick – “

“Oi,” said Blaise.

“And snogging Harry,” said Seamus. “I thought you weren’t into all that Chosen One worship, but apparently you just can’t wait to gobble down some Golden Boy dick.”

“Fuck you,” said Dean. “Harry’s just a friend and yeah, I snogged him, but maybe that was because my best friend was disgusted with me and I was hurting and lonely and Harry was actually understanding and kind. And how dare you, how dare you talk to me about kissing Harry when you got drunk and made a pass on half the girls we know, and then actually shagged Hannah. So what, you get to go around shagging any girl you like but if I kiss a bloke then suddenly there’s something wrong with me? That Irish Catholicism really did a number on you, mate.”

“Don’t you bring up the Hannah thing like you were so cool and understanding, you were furious about that.”

“I didn’t – “

“I saw your face, Dean. You looked like you wanted to cry. And maybe I’d like to know why – “

“I thought – “ Dean’s voice cracked. “Look, I was beginning to think some things that weren’t true, ok? About – about you and me. About possibilities. And I just realised that I’d been delusional.” He sniffed. “So there you go. There’s your story. Your little fag friend had a crush on you, so of course you had to leave him behind.”

Seamus started laughing. It was a horrible sound, cracked and wild and crazy. He stalked over to the wall and kicked it as hard as he could. Then again, and again, and then he was driving his fists into the wall and laughing and crying and Dean was pulling him back, holding him as he thrashed wildly.

“What is wrong with you?” yelled Dean.

“You’re right,” said Seamus. “That Catholic upbringing really did a number on me.”

And he kissed him.

Dean pushed him away, gasping. “Was that – was that a fucking joke?”

Seamus was laughing again. “I wish. Oh I wish it was. It’s funny, really. The least funny hilarious thing in the entire world.”

“I don’t – “

“I want you so much,” said Seamus, staring him down. He was poised on the balls of his toes, arms outspread like he was commanding the rain. He looked like a dare. He looked like a broken man. “I want you so much that it’s almost killing me. And I have tried to destroy it but I can’t. Because – here’s something fun for you, Dean – my mum wouldn’t just feel uncomfortable, and make award jokes about me being gay, or stumble over the word partner. My mum would never, ever talk to me again. My dad neither. I would be dead to them. I’m not bi, Dean. I’m not, so I can’t just hope to end up with a woman. Do you know how absolutely blitzed I had to get to shag Hannah? But I can’t be gay, because then I’d just be broken. So I’m nothing, Dean, I’m nothing except this great big pile of hatred and want.”

“Courtyard, now!” said a voice from inside.

“Jesus Christ,” said Blaise. “Could we maybe have spread out the drama?”

Dean and Seamus went scrambling towards the cupboard, yanking it open and stopping dead when they saw the assorted huddle.

“Get in,” said Draco. “We were all doing what you were doing, and then we all heard what you heard, and then we all did what you did. And now we’re all in here.”

“Fair enough,” said Dean. “Come along, Seamus.”

They crouched in and pulled the door to, just as Theo and Pansy came tumbling into the courtyard.

“Now there’s a twist I didn’t see coming,” said Blaise. Next to him, Ron had switched from red to white.

“No offence, Theo,” said Pansy, her voice acidic, “but if I ever suffer a traumatic brain injury and feel the need to ask for love advice, I will dig up the mouldering remains of Voldemort himself and ask him about boy stuff before I turn to you.”

“I’m thinking you have suffered a traumatic brain injury, Pans, because Ron Weasley? Really?”

“Oh Ron,” said Susan. “Don’t worry, the aurors are really good at transferring partners when personal issues get in the way. Tough luck on this happening the day you get back together, Hermione.”

“Am I going to have to start dressing like Morag?” said Hermione, unremarked by all around her.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” said Pansy. “I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.”

“Then let me explain some things to you,” said Theo. “Maybe he gets on with you now. Hell, Potter and Malfoy get on, stranger things have happened. Maybe he’d even like to fuck you, Pansy. But you do not get the boy. You do not get this happy ending that you seem to have constructed in your head. He will use you for sex and chuck you over for a lark and laugh it up with his Gryffindor mates about the time he actually got under the skin of the ice bitch of Slytherin.”

“He’s a good – “

“He’s a good person, right? They all are. They’re all such good people, and that means that anything they do to the evil people like us is justified. He is Ron Weasley, hero of the wizarding world, and he doesn’t end up with a girl like you. Do you really think you could give him what he wants, Pansy? He was with Granger. That’s who he wants. He wants babies and domesticity and uncomplicated goodness, and I’m sorry, Pans, but that’s not you.”

“You don’t know him,” said Pansy, her voice thick.

“Maybe I don’t,” said Theo, his voice kind. “But am I wrong?”

There was a long silence, in which Pansy stood in the rain, a sodden stick figure in black. And then Seamus sneezed.

The sound echoed round the courtyard, freezing everyone in place. Theo stormed open to the cupboard door and wrenched it open.

“What the fuck,” said Theo. “What the fuck are you doing here.”

“Me and Dean were talking,” said Seamus, “and then you started yelling and we ran in here!”

“And you invited all your friends?” said Theo. “This is what I mean, Pansy. All the fucking Gryffindors, laughing at us.”

“Hey,” said Draco and Blaise as one.

“Really. You all just ended up in this cupboard by accident, then?”

“Yes!” said Susan. “Stop shouting. Harry and Draco were having a private conversation, and then Ron and Hermione came to get back together, so Harry and Draco hid, and then me and Blaise came to get together, so they hid, and then Dean and Seamus came to yell at each other, so we hid, and then you two turned up so Dean and Seamus hid, and we should really stop using the courtyard as a place to hold private conversations.”

“You and Blaise are together?” said Dean. “That’s great.”

“Finnegan and Thomas are fighting again?” said Theo.

“You’re getting back together with Hermione?” said a small voice from the back.

Pansy Parkinson stood alone in the rain, her hair slicked to her face like a skull cap, shivering in her inappropriate clothes. Her face was a terrible blank.

“Pansy,” said Ron, holding out a hand towards her.

She turned and ran.

Ron started after her, and then stopped. “Hermione, I – “

“Go,” she said. “Now.”

He ran.

“Oh Hermione,” said Susan. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m in love with Parvati!” said Hermione.

“You are?” said Parvati, poking her head out of the kitchen door.

“I – “ Hermione’s voice trailed into a squeak. “I’m sorry. I don’t – “

“But you turned me down,” said Parvati. “I – you can’t keep playing with me like this.”

“When did I turn you down? You were – I was – “ She hung her head. “I heard what you were saying earlier about me, ok? It doesn’t have to be awkward, we can still be friends – “

“What, when I was talking about how desperately I was in love with you?”

“No, when you were talking about what a sad little mess I am – “

“Ahhhhhh, fuck,” said Padma. “Hey, Hermione, did you overhear the words ‘not exactly a stunner’?”

Hermione gulped and nodded.

“Yeah,” said Padma. “That was me. I’m a bitch, sorry. Evil twin, you know the drill. Parvati’s pathetically in love with you.”

Parvati flung her arms wide. “See!”

“Like, embarrassingly,” said Padma. “She wouldn’t shut the fuck up about you when she came home for Diwali.”

“Yes, thank you Padma – “

“Mum and Dad definitely know you’re a lesbian now,” said Padma. “It was all ‘oh, Hermione had such interesting things to say about the inherent Christianity of the Hogwarts curriculum’ or ‘oh, Hermione taught me this really neat charm – “

Parvati forcefully covered her sister’s mouth. “I am a _normal_ amount of in love with you, ok? Very normal. Completely fine – ow, Padma, did you fucking bite me?”

“So – “ Hermione was looking between the two of them. “So – “

“You should kiss her now,” said Padma.

“Oh, shut up,” said Parvati. She stepped into the rain and wrapped Hermione up into a long, passionate kiss. Blaise’s mouth dropped open. Susan poked him in the ribs.

“Hey guys,” said Morag, poking her head out of the kitchen door. “I’ve got some great gossip. Did you know Ginny’s dating Luna?”

After Blaise and Susan had disappeared into her room, and Parvati and Hermione had settled into a corner to kiss and whisper, and Theo had stormed off to his room, Harry looked around for Draco and found he’d disappeared. So had Seamus. Dean was outside, sitting in the outdoors cupboard with the door open, distinguishable only by the lit tip of his cigarette. Harry went out and sat opposite him.

“You don’t smoke.”

“It seems appropriate,” said Dean. “I’m miserable. It’s raining. Time to smoke. How did your thing with Draco go?”

“Pretty badly,” he said. “Turns out he’s in love with me.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“I think it might be a bit complicated for him.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “I know how that goes.”

They sat in silence for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth.

“Do you know what I wish,” said Dean.

“That we actually fancied each other?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“You know I’ve spent most of this year just as closeted and confused as Seamus is, right?”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t because you were going through some deep complicated psychosexual issues. That was just because you were dumb.” He exhaled slowly. “Which, by the way, is what you should tell Draco.”

“I think he knows.”

“I know what?”

Draco was standing there in the doorway, his hair ruffled, in a clean white shirt. He looked washed out and strange under the sodium glare. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, and then cried heavily about it. He looked absolutely beautiful.

“That I’m dumb,” said Harry. “I’m so dumb. I am just drop-dead stupid.”

Draco smiled. “Thomas, would you give us a moment?”

Dean slid out, giving Harry a comforting squeeze on the shoulder as he did.

“I’m not sitting down there,” said Draco, standing opposite Harry, “because this cupboard is filthy, and I’ve already ruined one pair of trousers. So you’ll have to stand.”

Harry took the hand that was offered him, and stood up. Draco was only a few inches away, and it was a weird rerun of earlier – as if all the crazy stuff that had happened in between had meant nothing, it was just a sideshow that they had to get out of the way before they could get back to this moment.

“I’m in love with you,” said Harry.

“Ok,” said Draco.

“Anything else to say? Any thoughts on that?”

“I’m just wondering how you’ve come to this realisation.”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Do try, Potter.”

“Ok, it’s just – I thought I knew what love looked like. And in my head, it looked like Ron and Hermione. It was familiar, and comforting, and safe. And you – you are none of those things. I guess I thought they would always get back together, because that’s what love is, right? But today – not just Ron and Hermione, all of them. Love isn’t safe. Love is reckless and terrifying and comes at you with no warning. Love is Blaise Zabini braving a Muggle supermarket because he’s out of ideas, and love is Pansy refusing to be beaten down by Theo, and hell, maybe sometimes love is actual, terrible pain.”

“Are you saying your love for me is a terrible pain?”

“You’re a terrible pain,” muttered Harry. “Look, what I feel for you is – confusing and scary. But it’s also fucking brilliant. You are fucking brilliant. And – I think you figured this all out before I did, so I’m sorry it took me so long.”

"Figured it out,” muttered Draco. “Sure. I’m going to hold your hand now. Try not to have feelings about it.”

“I’ll do my best.”

And Draco did take his hand, and Harry utterly failed not to have feelings about it. From the look on his face, neither did Draco.

“I haven’t actually said I love you, Harry.”

“I know,” he said, just as softly. “We all find different parts of this frightening.”

“The great Harry Potter, admitting to being afraid?”

“Uni is a time for trying new things.”

Draco laughed, and then he leant forward and kissed him softly on the side of the mouth.

“I’m not ready to be out,” he said, his breath tickling Harry’s ear. “I mean – out-out, to the world. I know it’s kind of an open secret, but I need a little more time. Can you live with a little bit of cowardice from me?”

Harry caught his wrist in his hand. “It’s not cowardice. I’m going to be absolutely thrilled the day that I get to stand next to you and introduce you as my boyfriend, but it’s ok for me to wait. I’ll think of it as something to look forward to.”

“A good incentive to stop you from fucking up.”

“Oi, why is it me that’s going to fuck up?”

Draco laughed and shifted. Harry was leaning back against the wall now, with Draco’s head pillowed on his shoulder. He ran his hands soothingly up and down Draco’s back.

“I’m not going to believe it,” said Draco. “Not for a little while.”

“I can wait on that too.” He turned his head, and brushed a kiss against Draco’s ear.

“I hate to ruin this romantic moment,” said Draco, “but I need to go and find Pansy. She’s been… infatuated with Weasley for a long time, and she needs a friend right now.”

“Um, all right. Won’t you be a bit of a third wheel though? I mean, they’ll probably want to, uh, you know.” Draco pulled back sharply. “What? What did I do?”

“You mean to tell me – that Weasley – he – “

“Oh,” said Harry. “Yeah. No, he’s pretty gone for her.”

“Wow,” said Draco. “Well, ok then. I really do see what you mean about love being unexpected.” His grin turned wicked. “So, want to get out of here, Potter?”

Harry grinned. “Thought you’d never ask, Malfoy.”

Sometimes, thought Morag, being the voice of lesbian reason was a thankless fucking job. She knew this, because everyone else was back at the flat celebrating their big romcom ending, and she was off to sacrifice a bottle of her best whiskey in the name of gay solidarity.

Thankfully, Seamus was still on campus, because searching the whole of Windsor Great Park would have been a bitch. She found him sitting on a bridge above the ornamental water feature, throwing stones into the pool, and settled down beside him.

“So you heard, then,” he said.

“Wasn’t hard to work out,” she said. “Everyone else walked out of that cupboard and into a relationship, and you and Thomas buggered off in separate directions looking like you’d just heard that Ogdens was shutting down.”

“So you’re here to do what? Tell me it’s ok to be gay? Give me a big speech on self-acceptance?”

“I’m here to drink. And to get away from all the fucking English.”

He laughed, and she handed him the bottle as a reward. They sat in companionable silence for a while, swigging in turn.

“So who’s looking after Dean?”

“Harry was, I think.”

“Of fucking course,” scoffed Seamus. “Harry just couldn’t wait to be there for him, to hear all about poor little Dean and all his problems, and maybe they’ll just get talking to how I’m a bastard and then Dean will want comforting – “

“I said Harry was. Then he left to go have sex with Draco Malfoy, who I’m pretty sure is now his boyfriend.”

“Oh,” said Seamus. “Well. Right.”

“Though let me be absolutely clear here – if Dean decides tonight that he’s going to shack up with Terry or Anthony or some anonymous twink at a bar? Good for him. If I’d been fucked around the way you’ve been fucking him around I’d be champing at the bit for a good shag to get it out of my system.”

“I did not – Are Terry and Anthony -?”

“Hush, child,” she said, holding up a hand. “I’m going to lay some wisdom on you now. The first is this – yes, you totally did fuck him around. And I understand that you’re going through a lot right now, and there’s lots of good, sympathetic reasons why you were saying and doing the things you did – but that doesn’t negate their effect on Dean. Him being the nearest queer person to you does not mean that you can use him to play gay chicken with yourself and see how far could push the envelope of heterosexual bromance without having to admit you weren’t straight, and your internalised homophobia does not actually justify the way you treated him when he came out. I get it, kind of. If he was openly bi and you were into him and you two were friends then maybe you’d end up crossing a line and you wouldn’t be able to take it back. That’s kind of it, right?”

“Yeah,” said Seamus. “I just – when I didn’t know, I just – “

“When you just suspected, when it was this unspoken thing between you, it was safe. When he came out, suddenly you were worried he might try and openly acknowledge what was going on with you. And let’s not forget that once he was out, he might have the audacity to go and actually shag men rather than engaging in some Victorian love-that-dare-not-speak-it’s-name roleplay with you. And the fact that I can tell that your actions were motivated by self-preservation rather than disgust is, quite frankly, the only reason I am still prepared to talk to you, because I’ve been in a similar place. But Finnegan, love, listen to me very carefully. Your motivations do not matter. You hurt him as much as if you’d been a straight guy who did this because you were a little bit icked out by gay people. You hurt him more.”

“Then what am I meant to do?” he yelled. “Please tell me, Morag, what I am meant to do. Because the fact that you can name all that doesn’t make it less of a problem, all right? You’re right, I hurt him by pushing him away, and my motivations don’t matter – you’re right. But I cannot. Be. Near. Him. I am working so bloody hard at this, and I can’t – I can’t – “

“Because of your family,” she said softly.

He slumped. “Yeah.”

“Here,” she said, handing him the bottle. “Down as much as you can without vomiting.” She waited as he drank and then took it back, having a bit more herself for good measure before the boy necked it all.

“Do you love Dean?” she said.

“Morag – “

“Who the fuck am I going to tell that doesn’t already know.”

“Yeah,” he said, whispering. “I’m – I love him.”

“This one’s going to hurt, but there’s no wrong answer. If you love him, is losing him going to be any less painful than losing your family?”

Seamus didn’t respond. He just doubled over and put his head in his hands.

She stroked his back fondly. “Let me tell you something, Finnegan, something I worked out when I was sixteen and I had to start living at Hogwarts full time because my mother wouldn’t let me come back home. You can survive just fine if the whole world hates you, but you can’t live at odds with yourself. Don’t waste any time trying.”

Seamus slowly untensed under her hands.

“Hey, Morag.”

“Yeah?”

“If my parents kick me out, can I come and stay with you?”

“Course. Though, just as an addendum, you don’t have to come out to your parents. I more meant, you know – “

“Self-acceptance. Things get better.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I have more whiskey?”

“As long as you don’t finish the whole bottle. Then we’ll get you into bed.”

Seamus was still slumped over when Dean appeared on the other side of the lake. He moved to come forward, then stopped, pointed at Seamus and gestured questioningly. Morag gave him a thumbs up, and watched as he turned and walked away.


	5. Epilogue: I Have A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote, folks! Sorry for taking so long with this story. Even two pandemic related mental breakdowns couldn't keep it down. Theoretically there was meant to be a part two that would deal with some of the unfinished threads of this story, but - look, it took me three years to write this, and nearly a year to post it. Don't hold your breath.

“Never have I ever snogged everyone at this table,” said Parvati, with a wicked grin.

Hermione smacked her on the arm. “Hey, I haven’t snogged Pansy.”

“Not yet you haven’t,” said Pansy, winking at her. Ron’s face went an interesting colour.

“Wait,” said Harry. “You snogged Malfoy?”

“You snogged Potter?” said Malfoy, head swivelling between them.

“Yeah,” said Ron, tearing his gaze away from Pansy. “That’s my question too.”

“We were drunk,” said Hermione. “When I snogged Malfoy. And then he told me he was gay. And I was crying when I snogged Harry. And then I told him I was gay.”

“You also told me I was gay at the same time,” said Harry.

Hermione waved her arm. “So basically the whole thing was a disaster.”

“You almost make me wish I’d gone to uni,” said Pansy, watching Hermione with newfound fascination.

Draco grimaced. “Please, Pans, there was enough drama going round without you deliberately stirring any more up.”

“Don’t lie. I would have been terribly helpful. I’m only a bitch because it helps gets everyone’s emotions out into the open.”

“Ah yes, you’re famously so good at emotions.”

Pansy threw a straw at him. “I’m a new woman now. All about being in touch with my feelings and stuff of that ilk.”

“Never have I ever come out,” said Ron, and everyone but he and Pansy drank. Draco pointed an accusing finger at her.

“Pans…”

“I am, unfortunately for the female population, a heterosexual, Draco.”

“You had to come out as a Gryffindor lover. Which is far more shameful. I speak from experience.”

Ron and Harry both made a chocked noise.

“Speaking of Slytherins,” said Draco smoothly, “where are Blaise and Susan? And, well, everyone else? I do love your London flat, Parvati, but we’re going to need more than the six of us to fill it.”

Harry looked around and agreed. The flat was lovely, with a wide open-plan space that would make a perfect dancefloor and a beautiful glass wall with a view of the river, but sitting around like this with all the food and drinks laid out untouched made him feel a bit like walking through the house right before Petunia had a dinner party, with all the nice things he wasn’t allowed to touch.

Except now he could, because this party was laid out for him too. He brushed his fingers against Draco’s.

“It’s only just gone seven, Draco,” said Hermione. “Chill out.”

“Chill out,” said Parvati fondly. “Uni really is a time for trying new things for you, isn’t it?”

“Blaise isn’t coming,” said Pansy. “He’s got something special planned with Susan.”

“Oh Jesus,” said Draco. “He’s not going to propose, is he? I understand he’s in love, but really, it’s a little early.”

“Worse,” said Pansy. “He’s meeting her family. He’s trying to get their approval.”

“The Bones?” Parvati raised an eyebrow. “The most serious and well-respected family of legal scholars, politicians and all-round serious doo-gooders? Approving of Blaise?”

“He spent Christmas cooking for the homeless,” said Pansy. “Or possibly just cooking the homeless. The homeless were involved somehow. He’s very committed.”

“I cannot believe I’m missing that,” said Draco mournfully. “God, shall we start sending him obnoxious patronises? ‘Blaise, come quickly, the strippers that you suggested demand to be paid in illegal potions’? ‘Blaise, I’m having a bondage disaster and only you know how to untie me right’?”

“Susan would murder you,” said Hermione.

“Yes,” sighed Draco, “but what a way to go.”

****

The party was in full swing, which meant that everyone was inside dancing and laughing, which meant that Pansy was smoking on the balcony. She wrapped herself in her cardigan and tried to ignore the feeling of discontent. Of course she didn’t fit in at a party – her whole personality was about standing on the sidelines, throwing snark, not being there in the centre.

It was just a bit lonely, she thought as she watched Draco dance with Harry, when you were the only one standing there.

“Hey Pans,” said a soft voice, and then Ron slid in next to her and handed her a glass of white. “I don’t know what dry means in terms of wine, so I just asked Draco which one was best.”

“Don’t you want to be in there with your friends?”

He smiled. “And your friends. I want us both to be in there, with our friends.” He took a sip of his own drink – some disgusting lager. “What’s up?”

She sniffed. “These aren’t my friends.”

“Um, Draco? Theo? Even Greg’s in there.”

“No I mean – this group, they aren’t my friends. They made their own thing during university, and it’s great, it’s all about forgiveness from the war and no longer hurting and getting over differences and all that great big moral stuff. But I’m not part of it. And it’s ok for you – you can just slip right back in with Hermione and Harry. But I can’t do that. I had a – a role. As the only person on Draco’s side. And it’s gone.”

She huddled closer to him. One of his hands settled on her head, and began to softly stroke.

“Mess up my hair and I’ll kill you,” she said.

“Ok, Pans.”

“This is the right wine, though.”

“Guess you’ll keep me then, huh?”

“Why’d you love me?”

He shifted and pulled her towards his chest. “Because you are – I don’t even know how to phrase it, Pansy. I mean, all the ways I know to phrase it aren’t for people like you and the way I feel. The best thing I can say is that it’s – recognition. I look at you and I see something I don’t see anywhere else, and it’s something that you don’t let a lot of people see but I get to. And you look at me and see me. Was that ok?”

“That was pretty good.”

They sat in silence for a while longer. Pansy stubbed out her cigarette.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I love you?”

Ron grinned. “Don’t need to.”

“Cocky tosser.”

“Ah, but I had a little conversation with Draco earlier that backed up my cockiness. Is it true that you want to ‘have my ugly babies’?”

“That wanker! I am going to kill him.”

“You know, I really think you’re underselling our future kids, Pans. As long as they avoid anything from the top half of my face and anything from the bottom half of yours, we’re probably all right.”

“I will push you off this balcony.”

“There are no good options on the noses, though,” mused Ron. “Maybe they’ll end up with a halfway-point of both of ours. That wouldn’t be so bad.”

“I hate you,” said Pansy. “I hate you so much, and I’m going to tell our future kids that you said that about their hypothetical noses.”

“You called them ugly first,” said Ron, and he was smiling so gently, and his eyes were so interested, and he looked like he could have stayed out in the January cold all night.

“What if – look, you know I don’t know how I feel about kids, right?”

“Yep.”

“And a big Weasley wedding might be a bit much for me.”

“I’ve already started laying the groundwork with mum for when we elope to Paris.”

“And I’ll never cook for you or clean your house.”

“No offence, but I have never and will never trust someone who grew up rich as you to cook or clean. Only one condition on our glorious future together.”

“Yeah?”

“You have to at least try to quit smoking.”

She smiled and ground out her cigarette. “They’re little death sticks anyway.”

“Good. Then, dancing?”

She took his hand and walked back into the warmth.

****

****

Dean leant against the railings of the balcony, and idly considered throwing himself off into the river.

Knowing his luck, he’d probably survive the fall.

“Hey.” There was Neville with a beer in each hand. “Saw you come out here. Want a beer?”

“Love one.”

Neville handed him one and came to rest next to him. “You all right?”

“You heard?”

“Yep. Sorry.”

“I figured. Everyone in there won’t stop looking at me like I’m about to fall to my knees and wail ‘oh god why’.”

“Are you?”

He peeled a strip from the label of his bottle, examining it in the reflected light. “I’m considering it. Might give them something else to talk about.”

“Have you tried talking to them about it?”

“I don’t do that,” he said. “I’m Dean Thomas. I’m lovely and nice and polite and well-spoken so that nobody remembers I’m a six-foot-two mixed bisexual and starts throwing slurs. Me? Have feelings? Complex ones? Psshhhh.”

“They’re your friends.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And I’m a six-foot-four black bisexual and I’ve survived the night so far.”

“You just said that to remind me that you’re taller than me now, didn’t you?”

“Little bit. I know what you mean, though. About being the nice one. Always having to look out for people’s feelings around you. It doesn’t leave any room for your own.”

He looked at Neville. It was still a shock, to see how handsome he was now. Always there’d be that afterimage of little chubby Neville with a badly-tuned wand, trying to hold back tears. He wondered if it grated on him.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re a nice guy, Neville. But you’re more than that, too.”

Neville shrugged. “Sometimes nice is enough. But then in South America - I dunno. When you’re out there with just the plants and the animals it’s really freeing. Sometimes I’d stand in the jungle and just start screaming.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. In a nice way, mostly. You ever just scream?”

“I’ll give it a try.”

Neville was still looking at him, quiet and intense.

“I don’t know what there is to say about it,” Dean said. “I loved him. He kissed me. He had a mental breakdown. He’s not here. End of story.”

“I don’t think it is. That’s a shit ending to a story.”

“Yeah, well, life doesn’t always tie up the loose ends.” He flicked a ball of label out towards the Thames. “I’m going to move on. Starting now, I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to dance?”

“Sure,” said Neville. “I could dance.”

It wasn’t Seamus, tight and flushed with booze and shouting in his ear. There wouldn’t be that feeling of invincibility. His breath wouldn’t stutter in his throat when he touched Neville, and his lungs wouldn’t burst, and his heart wouldn’t give out.

But it would be a nice dance.

When Draco stumbled out of the loo, he found Theo, inexplicably in his path.

“Sorry, I just want to – oof – trying to get – Theo, stop moving.”

“I’m standing still,” said Theo. “You stop moving, and I’ll move around you.”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

Draco waved his hand and screwed his face up. He couldn’t think very hard at the moment, but he was sure that if he did the motions like he was, clever thoughts would come. “You say stuff that’s literal, but you’re thinking about it – deeply.”

Theo sighed. “Are we really going to talk about this? Right now?”

“Yes,” said Draco. “Talking is good. The Gryffindor’s keep telling me so.”

“Right,” sighed Theo. “Of course, because we’re all taking advice from the Gryffindor’s now. Why wouldn’t we? They’re our new best friends, fuck everything that happened, fuck the past – “

“Ok, ok,” said Draco. “Stop for a second. First, aren’t we a bit old to be all house-rivalry about this? I’m a Slytherin, and I’ll always be a Slytherin – and so will you, and I don’t plan to ever be ashamed of that. But the core of Slytherin is ambition, and cunning and loyalty. Not hating the ‘other side’. For god’s sake, weren’t Salazar and Godric rumoured to be, uh – you know.”

“I find it very amusing that you’re shagging a bloke but still can’t talk about it,” said Theo, completely unamused.

“And second,” said Draco, refusing to be put off by Theo’s face, “secondly – yeah, fuck everything that happened. It was awful, Theo, but it wasn’t their fault – and it wasn’t ours, either. Not much, anyway. Definitely not yours.” He drank. “Maybe a bit mine. But we can let that be the rest of our lives, and hold those memories sacred, and just live out the remaining century or so we’ve got clinging to a few things that happened in our late teens – or we could live. And drink. And have fun at this party. And you don’t have to do the first thing – I can’t force you – but you do have to do the second and third.”

“I don’t do parties,” said Theo, but his voice was softening slightly.

“So go find Pansy,” said Draco. “She loves to stand on the sidelines and very conspicuously Not Do Parties. And yeah, I know she’s mad at you, but just – “

“She’s dancing with Weasley.”

“Well, you should still apologise. Go hang around one of those Ravenclaw boys. Go hang around Thomas to make him stop looking like a wet blanket. Or, you know, hang around with me. Your oldest friend, guy who actually wanted to have fun with you this evening?”

“Fine,” said Theo, and let Draco drag him into the party and over to where Greg was sitting with Ginny, Luna and Harry.

“You have a very bright aura,” Luna said dreamily, skimming her arms over Greg’s shoulders. “Have you considered a career as a mind-healer? I imagine your presence would be very calming.”

“I might now,” said Greg, looking at her as if he’d found religion. Ginny and Harry shared hysterical looks. Draco came to settle at Harry’s shoulders, pulling him tight aggressively. It wasn’t as if the Weaslette was likely to want him back, but there was no harm reminding her that she couldn’t.

“Hullo, Malfoy,” said Ginny. She was looking at him with a sharp expression, and he abruptly remembered that her brother had died in the war, and another one had been turned, and maybe he shouldn’t be sitting so close to her just because he had Harry’s protection.

“Weasley,” he said, stiff and awkward. Merlin, he probably looked like such a twat. Well, he _was_ a twat, so they’d just have to deal with that. 

“Luna’s my girlfriend,” she said. “Hermione mentioned something about you thinking it hysterical that all the women the Golden Trio had dated turned lesbo the second they broke up.”

“You did?” said Harry, looking delightedly at Draco. “Have you told Ron?”

“Shockingly, no, I have not told Weasley. I don’t want to disappear.”

“Scared of Ron?”

“Scared of Pansy. Who could be scared of a ginger?”

“Who indeed. So Harry turned me gay, then,” said Ginny. “Did he turn you gay too?”

“I was gay long before Potter,” he sniffed. “And I’ll still be gay long after this temporary insanity has ended.”

But he squeezed Harry’s hand, and felt an answering pressure.

“Hmm,” said Ginny. “You know, Neville’s bi too. And Dean. Lots of options for Harry once you’re back in your right mind.”

“Please. Longbottom’s fit as fuck now. Once I’m done with Harry, I’m jumping him first.”

“Who’s jumping me?” said Neville from behind him, and Draco went bright red. Harry was laughing so hard it must have hurt.

“Blaise,” muttered Draco. “Said something about a threesome. I’d gird your loins now.”

“The party has arrived!” said a booming voice from the door, and Harry groaned.

“Christ, Draco, did you summon him?”

“Hello, all,” said Susan, giving Luna a quick side-hug. “Blaise told my uncle that his mother can only really be suspected of murdering three of her husbands, so we had to leave.”

“I’ll win them back,” said Blaise, who was already double-fisting bottles of champagne. “Are we ready for the countdown? Got any new year’s resolutions, lads and ladettes?”

“Beat that bitch from the Falcons to the snitch,” said Ginny.

“Teach Blaise appropriate manners and get a first in all my essays,” said Susan.

“Find a squidmaid,” said Luna, “and see if they can teach me their dances.”

“Not do that,” said Theo.

Draco looked over at Harry and squeezed his hand.

“No resolutions for me, I think,” he said. “I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing.”

“Hello,” said the exquisitely pretty blonde from the Slytherin set, appearing next to Morag. “You’re Morag MacDougal, aren’t you?”

“Uhhh, yeah,” said Morag, trying not to look like she was drinking Bucky’s. “You’re Daphne, right?”

“That’s me,” said Daphne, with an enchanting giggle. She leant forward, a cloud of perfume and silk and breasts. Morag focused heavily on her breathing. “Draco says you’re a lesbian. That must be terribly exciting.”

“It’s all right,” said Morag. Eyes, she needed to focus on Daphne’s eyes. Except every time she did that, Daphne seemed to shift in a way that made her breasts even more prominent.

“I’ve never been a lesbian,” she said, with breathy wonder. “It sounds lovely. Never having to worry about men.”

“Yeah, it’s - you know. Fun.”

“Perhaps you can show me,” said Daphne, stepping closer and – was her hair twinkling? Her hair was definitely twinkling. This was such a bad idea.

“Sure,” said Morag, and let her grin grow wolfish, her eyes dark. Her hand hovered at Daphne’s tiny waist. “I can show you a real good time.”

After midnight, after Parvati had kissed her breathless as the fireworks burst around her and above her and inside her, Hermione tapped Harry and Ron on the shoulders and led them outside to the balcony.

“I know it’s silly,” she said. “But I just wanted – “

“Don’t be a berk, it’s not silly,” said Ron. “Seems like yonks ago it was just us three vs the world, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “Doesn’t feel like that much time has passed to me. But also – “

“Yeah,” said Ron. “Near and far at the same time. Fuck, I’m drunk.”

Hermione shivered, and the two of them closed around her, wrapping her in their warmth.

“I’ve missed you both,” said Ron. “I mean, Harry I see regularly, but – “

“It was weird,” she said. “But we’re over that now. You should come visit us at uni more often.”

“As long as you lot stop Morag from smoking that stuff quite so obviously in front of me.”

“Pansy smoked it too,” said Harry.

“She’s a terrible auror. I’m pretty sure she just took this job so she could hinder any criminal investigations into Blaise.”

There was a small snuffling sound, and it took her a second to place it. Harry was crying. He wiped his eyes, looking sheepish.

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, it’s just – we’re all going to be happy now, aren’t we? I’m being such a pillock. But, you know, two years ago I was all good with dying and I wasn’t sure if either of you were still alive, and now – “

“There, there.” Ron patted his shoulder, his fingers tangling with Hermione’s curls in the process. “Don’t worry, I’m sure life will still be terrible in small ways. I mean, your boyfriend is a raving lunatic who’s currently arguing with Padma over colour palettes, and Hermione’s girlfriend has an evil twin, and Pansy is – “

“Generally a nightmare,” said Hermione. “I mean, she’s nice to me now she knows I’m not trying to steal you, but she did once try and murder me in public.”

“Yeah, she’s great isn’t she?” said Ron, misty-eyed. Hermione whacked him.

“New Year,” said Harry. “New century. New millennium. Time for a change, don’t you think? Try some new things.”

“Not fearing for our lives all the time,” said Ron.

“Actually getting some studying done,” said Harry.

“Being in a stable relationship,” said Hermione, “with someone who can actually talk about feelings.”

“Ouch,” said Ron. “Is that in revenge for the Christmas fiasco?”

“No, Ron,” she said sweetly. “My revenge will come when I watch you tell your mother you’re dating Pansy Parkinson.”

Ron turned ghost white, and Harry and Hermione clutched each other and howled.

“I don’t think you should go back to halls for the last week of the holidays,” said Harry.

The party had finally died out around five in the morning. The sky was blood-red at the edges of the east, and Draco was kicking his heels against the kitchen cabinet and drinking a cup of tea.

“Unfortunately that’s where I live, Potter. What with my eternal shunning from the Malfoy bloodline.”

“You’re such an overdramatic bastard.” He stepped between Draco’s legs and touched his face. All those sharp angles and strange features, combined into something beautiful. “What I mean is that you should come and stay with me at Grimmauld Place.”

“For the holidays?”

The easy thing would be to say, _yeah, just for the holidays._ But he didn’t want to be easy with Draco. You had to be brave, and a little bit stupid, when you were in love.

“I was thinking more for as long as you want. I mean, you’re a Black. It is kind of your house too.”

He held his breath. Whatever the answer was, he wouldn’t let it get him down. They’d only been officially dating for two weeks anyway. It was crazy to ask someone to move in with you that early. And if Draco said now, there’d still be time for them to build a home together after uni. One where Draco left his expensive shirts lying around because he wasn’t used to life without a house elf, and Harry cooked and Draco critiqued every forkful while gobbling it up. Where their friends would drop in and out every day through a door that was always open to them, laughing and telling stories and growing old and dull. There might be children running up and down the stairs where Sirius had been so miserable, and a fresh coat of paint in Buckbeak’s bedroom. One day Harry would take their hands and lead them to Godric’s Hollow and tell them about a war that wouldn’t matter to them, that they’d never be able to understand. He’d show them a picture of a handsome man with a cocky smile and a woman with firebright hair and tell them that they would have loved each of them very much. And he’d smile at Draco through the tears and know that they would have loved Draco too. It didn’t have to happen now, but it would, one day. He could feel it, the gravity of the future tugging at him.

“Harry,” said Draco. “Harry. _Yes.”_

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been writing this story on and off for two years, and I think it's time to accept that I'll just never really be happy with it. I'm not super keen on the tone or the characterisation, but I've come to accept it as a story-ghost that's going to keep haunting me till I get it out there in the world.  
> This has gone through six name changes, three re-imaginings and at least two attempts to create a playlist to go along with it. I have made tentative plans for a sequel and then scrapped them and then re-started them. I tried to write a side-story to go along with it and wrote seven thousand words of Ernie Macmillan/Justin Finch-Fletchley porn. This fic and this universe are the goblin that will not leave me be. I fling it at you in the hope I might get some peace.
> 
> Also if you liked this come talk to me at doyouwanttoseeabug on tumblr


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